LEATHER, NOT LACE
by foxdvd
Summary: Homicide and Vice have to join efforts to stop a human trafficking ring. No one will be safe. Rated M for the situation, the language and the sex.
1. Vice comes in

**A/N: I had honestly believed that "7 Shades" was going to be my last fic… but the muse seems to have changed her mind. This story takes me away from my well-traveled path, and it's rated M not only for the sex but also for the language and the situations. This might very well be the darkest fic I've ever written, and I'd be very pleased if you choose to take this journey with me. If the subject matter simply does not appeal to you, I'll understand your declining to do so. Come now; let's take a walk on the dark side…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

Their faces grim, a set expression in their walk, defeat seeping out from every pore, yet unwilling to give up in the fight. Such was the image the four detectives from Vice presented as they marched into Homicides bullpen. One of them stopped for a moment or two and seemed to regard Detective Jennifer Angell with something more than simple curiosity or appreciative interest. When he reached the door, he made a slight head movement in her direction to the other three, and the oldest looking one seemed to nod in agreement. Then they all went inside Captain Patterson's office and closed the door behind them.

"What the hell was that all about?"

Detective Don Flack Jr. had approached her desk, a cinnamon roll in each hand, and offered her one before biting into the other one. He knew it was a running joke, the way he always seemed to be eating, but he spent most of his work hours on the streets and you just didn't stop for a bite in the middle of a pursuit. So he ate whenever he got a chance, and that was that.

"Fuck if I know"

Angell caustic answer made Flack think she was in a bad mod, which wasn't usual.

"Bad day?" he asked, as casually as possible. He was also aware that she could probably kick his ass back into his own desk if she felt inclined to do so, the difference in height and weight unimportant at the time.

"Hot water ran out mid-shower. Toast burned. Case I had been busting my ass to solve was turned over to Major. Drunken witness puked all over my favorite jacket. And now those bozos come in here and check me over…"

"Bad day indeed…"

"I don't like it Flack. I don't like it one bit. When Vice shows up in Homicide it can only mean they've screwed up big time and they want us to fetch their sorry asses out of hot water… which usually means one of us is going to be stuck in a shitty deal that will take all the free hours we have and will probably end up not being recognized when glory merits get passed around…"

"I take it you've worked with them before…" Flack had been there, done that and was not exactly eager to repeat the experience any time soon.

"The chauvinist pigs… they don't want female detectives in their area, but when they need to bust a prostitution ring, they come looking for us. I swear they get a kick out of seeing us wearing skimpy clothes!"

"Nothing wrong with that…"

She sent a death look his way. "Not in the mood to bust your game, Flack. Thanks for the roll, but I have things to do, and I'd like to finish them before that door opens and the Cap starts hollering my name…"

Flack nodded and left her alone. He knew she could play the part; he'd seen her done undercover work once or twice, and he allowed his mind to toy with the idea of watching her wearing a very low top with a very short skirt and those killer stiletto boots. It was no secret that he had a soft spot for the dark haired detective and he indulged in harmless fleeting fantasies every now and then. He decided to save that mental picture for later, when he'd have enough time to explore it at leisure, and went back to his paperwork.

Soon enough, Capt opened the door and started hollering, but he didn't call out her name. Instead, he asked for Flack and Bartolucci and Gibbons and asked Garcia to go and fetch Messer, Ross and Hawkes from the lab and Pino from the morgue. Flack and Angell exchanged wondering looks and he went into the office and she went back to try and concentrate in her paperwork.

But her mind was working overtime; she knew it was no coincidence that Capt had called in the finest looking male specimens in the area. It didn't take a genius to figure out that something big was going down… soon. She was just glad she wasn't part of the whole three-ring circus; she really disliked working with Vice.

Forty minutes later, the door opened again and seven unhappy men walked out.

"Fuck!"

"I think that's the whole idea…"

"Shove it Messer…"

"Do we really have to do that?"

"Adam… what part of "mandatory" didn't you get?"

"Leave him alone, Gibbons"

"Aww, that's so sweet of you…"

"You look extremely happy with the whole idea, Bart, didn't know you swung that way…"

"Hey, watch it Pino, or I'll show you who's singing where…"

"ENOUGH!"

Cap's voice booming over their heads had them all jumping into attention. One look from him had them scurrying towards the locker room. Angell had been watching the whole exchange with a mix of amusement and intrigue, and nearly jumped off her chair when the Cap called her into his office as well.

"Detective Angell, these are Detectives Potts, Agnetti, Richardson and Silva, from Vice. Gentlemen, Detective Jennifer Angell…"

They acknowledge each other with a slight nod of head.

"I worked once with your dad, Detective, fine cop" said Agnetti, the oldest of them all.

She thanked him and centered her attention on Cap, bracing herself for what was about to come.

"Angell, Vice has requested our help in a case that has also crossed over into our jurisdiction. I believe you worked the case of the murders on Halloway?"

Angell loosened up a bit. So information was all they wanted. She could give them that. Let the guys sweat it for once.

"Two male DBs found three days apart, both showing signs of torture and sexual abuse. The first one was found gagged and the second one bound from hands and feet. They still remain John Does and the investigation is about to become a cold case as we found no evidence that could lead us to solving it. ME believes the men were prostitutes…"

Silva interrupted her: "We believe those bodies were dumped by the gay prostitution ring we've been trying to collar for the past 6 months…"

Angell raised an eyebrow. "Gay prostitution? No offense, gentlemen, but since when do Vice care about gay prostitution?"

It was Agnetti who answered her. "Since all evidence indicates that the godson of Senator Matthews was abducted and has been forced to work for them, ma'am"

Angell nodded in understanding. It was her experience, from her days as a blue uniform, that Vice stayed away from prostitution rings unless they got some heat from the higher ups. And such heat usually meant some political interest one way or another.

"We'd been working undercover for a couple of months now. Last week, we went in for a raid, but they got away. Now we have to start from scratch and we can't use any of the guys that worked the angle the first time around…" Richardson explained.

"However" added Potts, "We had a second operation set up, just to gather up more convicting evidence. Detective Maya Ramirez had been keeping phone communication with the pimp, and she had been working towards selling off her own "business" to him. He finally agreed to meet her next weekend"

"Seems to me not everything is lost, then. How does Homicide fit in all this?" Angell asked an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Maya has done a great job" pointed Agnetti, "but she cannot follow through with the meeting as she's pregnant."

"The operation has taken longer than we expected. It took Ramirez a while to earn their trust and start a solid communication channel… and by the time that happened her pregnancy was too notorious" continued Richardson.

"It was too late then to switch to another officer" said Silva, "and since we never thought she'd actually had to meet them, we let her continue on the job."

"And now that the first line of investigation is busted, all we have is her to collar these guys" finished Agnetti.

"But since she's pregnant…" Angell left the unfinished thought hang in the air.

"We need to send a replacement. And that's where you'll come in. You're gonna play the pimp part." Captain said.

"And who am I going to be pimping?" she asked, wondering just what kind of crazy scheme they had in mind.

"We've recruited men from all over headquarters that fit the mold and we'll photograph them for your selection album."

"You mean to tell me that you're going to try and get Flack and Messer and the others to pose as gay prostitutes?" Angell didn't know whether to cringe at the idea or laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Not try, Detective. They're at the locker room posing for photographs as we speak. Having covered that, we only have left to discuss your attire before we send you over to Maya for briefing…" Captain's voice left no room for buts or ifs and she knew it well.

"Attire?" she asked, her throat suddenly dry. It was one thing to wear a ridiculous blond wig and quite a different one to be strutting barely dressed in a dark alley.

"Yes. You see, this gang is not only working the gay angle, they're also into S&M."

"S and…" Angell felt that the room got too hot all of sudden.

"Sadomasochism, Detective. Welcome to the world of leather and pain."

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Not bad for a start, huh? It all goes downwards from here…**


	2. Boots NOT made for walking

**A/N: Time to leather up…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

"Shit!"

Don Flack Jr. stopped in his tracks outside the locker room. It sounded as if…

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!"

He had been right the first time around. Jennifer Angell was inside that locker room, and she wasn't happy at all by the sound of it. He decided to enter and see what was going on when he was nearly run down by Garcia, who was trying to get away from the same room as quickly as possible.

"Wouldn't go in there if I were you, buddy. She's going to want to kick some serious ass as soon as she gets up…"

Garcia's comment only served to inflame his curiosity even more. What the hell had happened in there? Flack got inside the locker room, not without certain trepidation, only to find Angell lying on the floor between the lockers and the bench. He took a step forward and then it hit him. The smell of leather made his nostrils flare, as well as other parts of his body. His keen eyesight soon found the source of the smell: it was coming from her; from the vest that barely covered her breasts and the slick pants that looked as if they'd been painted on her. He found himself biting his lower lip to suppress a growl that came from within a dark part of him he wasn't sure he knew existed before that moment. He took another step towards her, more hesitatingly this time around, unsure of both her reaction and his.

"Sleeping on the clock, huh?"

"Funny, Flack. Really funny. You're fucking hilarious."

"What happened?"

"Vice happened. The fucking morons expect me to walk in THIS…" Angell lifted one leg to show him a thigh high leather boot with 6 inch stiletto heels. "I can't even stand up, let alone walk…" He tried to suppress a smirk. "Go ahead, laugh. Just remember that I can kick your ass if I feel like it… help me out, dammit!"

Trying to keep a straight face, he reached out for her hands, which she batted away.

"No, no! Don't get me up. Get them off!" she said, shaking her legs as if trying to get rid of the offending footwear.

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, he squatted and tried to yank the right one off.

"Ouch! Careful, dummy, my feet is in there!"

Flack shook his head in disbelief. Women! He'd never understand how they could go about suffering the way they did to look good. Not that he didn't appreciate the effort; he'd be the fist to agree he was a sucker for legs that seemed to go on forever when standing atop high heels. Still shaking his head in disbelief, he lowered both zippers and took the boots off.

Sighing with relief, Angell got up and sat on the bench. Throwing a hateful look at the boots, she grabbed them and tried putting them on once again, muttering under her breath something about how she was not going to let some stupid footwear from hell get the best out of her. Flack, still squatting, silently observed as she battled her legs into the tight fitting leather.

"Here, let me" he said after a while.

Positioning himself in front of her, he proceeded to adjust the boot and zip it up. She wiggled her toes inside and settled her foot in a more comfortable position.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded and he moved on to the boot on her left leg. This time around, his actions were slower. He took in the fact that the stiletto heels were steel reinforced, that the sole was indeed a cleverly disguised platform. He noticed how the leather stretched just enough to cover the calf, and he pulled the zipper up in an almost slow-motion fashion, marveling at how it forced the material to mold over her body. His right hand followed the trail his left one did as the metal rose in place and his gaze followed them both close behind. It wasn't until he reached the end of the boot, almost mid thigh, that his eyes looked elsewhere. And for the second time that day, Don Flack had to bite his lower lip.

The leather pants she was wearing were cut low, low enough to show her belly button, and Flack had to wonder if the silver ring in the piercing had always been there or if it was part of the ruse. It had actually been the zipper that got his attention, but not the small one below the press-on bottom at the waist. There was another zipper, smaller in width, running from the front to the back. For a brief moment, his Catholic upbringing had him perplexing about the usefulness of a zipper covering the crotch area. His hot blooded male side provided the answer. His gentleman ways tried hard to avert his gaze (he was openly staring at Angell's crotch, for God's sake!) but his bad cop instincts urged him to find out what was underneath the metal teeth.

His subconscious beat him to the punch line, and before he realized it his right hand was resting on her left thigh and not on the boot. The softness of the material made it all too easy for him to slide it downwards… and that's when he felt the sole and heel of her right boot firmly planted square on his chest.

"If you've gotten over your shoe fetish, I'd like to finish getting ready…"

Her voice harshly snapped him back into reality. "I don't have a shoe fetish. I don't have any kind of fetish… at all" he denied vehemently as he stood up and pulled her up with him.

"Could have fooled me…" she muttered softly as she tried her newfound balance.

"…_Could have fooled myself…"_ he thought, wondering what the hell had just happened. He was a pretty straight laced guy with simple tastes. His mind fleetingly flew back to the last argument he had had with Devon before she "traded him in" for a new model: she had accused him of being boring and lacking a sense of adventure, mainly because he had refused to have sex in the back of his car while parked in the underground HQ parking lot. He hadn't had backseat sex since his days in high school, and wasn't planning on going back to them any time soon, not after discovering the joys of open spaces and comfortable surfaces and parent-explanation-free living arrangements. And if that made him boring, well, so be it.

He knew there were quirks and quacks for every taste out there. You can't work the streets of New York for nearly a decade and not know about them, and he'd seen his share of weird stuff out there, from transvestites to transsexuals to bondage gone wrong… he'd even been called on scene more than once when someone had taken autoerotic asphyxiation with a tad too much gusto. Sex did well in New York, as there would always be a customer for whatever it was that was on sale; something for everyone.

Except him. Until now. Now he didn't know what to think.

"So… what do you think?"

Her voice once more broke his train of thought and for a moment or two, he was almost certain she was asking about his reactions to her leather outfit. Unfortunately for him, she was indeed asking about the outfit and, even worse, she was getting a reaction from him. Reaction he wasn't sure he felt like sharing just then, so he shoved his hands into his pockets in an effort to disguise his already uncomfortable erection and to keep his hands from wanting to touch.

Angell, seemingly oblivious to it all, was happily parading around, twirling in a long leather coat and trying some crazy dance moves in her impossibly high heels.

"Ever since I saw "Matrix" I've wanted one of these babies" she purred, stroking the leather coat, "but I could never bring myself to chip out two hundred bucks that… Flack? You okay?"

Her voice full of concern, she took a step towards him, ad he unconsciously took a step back. She noticed it and stopped walking and he mentally cursed himself for his weakness.

"Okay… that's it. What's gotten into you today? Have I done something to piss you off or you just came in here with a bee under your bonnet?"

Flack considered for a moment if he should be truthful or try to get away with a not-so-white lie. In the end, he opted for the former, as he was sure she'd bust the latter.

"I'm sorry, Angell…it's not something you've done…"

"Then what is it?"

"I… well…aww shit… dammit Jenn, you look good!"

She seemed taken aback for a moment or two. "Well... uh... thanks… but…"

"Hell, woman, you don't get it, do you? When you say you look good I mean that you look real good…"

She at least had the grace of blushing, but she still didn't see the connection between looking good and having him acting weird. This was Don Flack, after all, and he had game, whether he liked to admit it or not. Flirting for him was as natural as breathing or eating.

"That's very sweet of you, Don, but… so what?"

He lost it just then. If she was going to be so stupidly naïve about it, there was no way in hell he was going to let her work this case, Vice be damned. Throwing all caution to the wind, he walked right up to her and caught her by the hips, pulling her closer. She let out a small yelp of surprise, and looked at him in the face; their height difference barely a couple of inches now that she was wearing such high heels.

"You look too damn fuckable for your own good" he growled almost in her ear and Angell felt a heat of wave washing all over her. "And I don't think I can trust myself around you just now, if you know what I mean…"

He pulled her even closer against him, and there was no way she wouldn't understand what his body was so plainly saying. She felt her cheeks burn red and her knees go weak and although she opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind not a single word came out. Instead, she had to fight the urge of leaning in and kissing him.

He was having the same problem and who knew what might just have happened later if Adam hadn't burst into the locker room looking for them.

"The dudes from Vice are back! And they seem to have assaulted every single adult shop in the city!"

X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X

**A/N: I know. Not too dark and not much of a cliffie. But I'm truing to keep things as light as possible while I still can!**


	3. Toys r' us

A/N: Time to come out and play…

X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X

Adam stopped, perplexed. He had been so wound up by the whole thing that he had burst into the room and had not noticed what was going on inside until after he'd finished talking. And now that he was seeing, he couldn't help but to blush. How awkward of him to walk in on Angell and Flack! How foolish must he look just then… and was Detective Angell wearing a leather vest? He blushed even more furiously when his brain registered the barely contained swell of her breasts… no wonder Flack had been holding her so close…. Well he didn't actually meant to make it sound like that, cause Flack was not one of those pervs that took advantage of women, he was more of the white knight… not that he would know about Flack being a knight, white or otherwise… and Adam was extremely grateful that this whole monologue had only ran inside his head and he had not stuttered any of it out cause judging by the look Flack was giving him, Adam was certainly his last favorite person in the world right then and there.

Flack was indeed looking at Adam, but not because he wished the lab tech would disappear. Actually, the detective was ashamed. Ashamed that the younger man had witnessed what could only be described as his weakness. And Flack was ashamed not only of showing weakness to his coworkers and peers, but of actually being weak. He was much better than this, he knew that; he had been raised much better than this, his father and Mother Mary Raphael and Coach Bartley had seen to that. And yet, here he was, behaving like a horny 15-year-old. He couldn't bring himself to look at Jenn in the face; he'd be lucky if she didn't report him on sexual harassment behavior. Hell, he'd be a lucky bastard if she ever spoke to him again! She was so much better than him… so much stronger than him…

As if to prove his point, she nonchalantly turned towards Adam, huge smile on her face.

"Thanks Adam, I'll be right there. Thanks Flack. I think I got the hang of it now. Guess it wouldn't do if I showed up on Saturday with a broken nose because I fell flat on my face for not knowing how to walk on these, huh?"

"Oh… okay… I guess I'll see you guys there…"

Adam hurried away as fast as he could, mentally slapping himself for his crazy ideas. Flack, always the gentleman, had gone to Angell's rescue in a moment of distress and there he was, making up a huge dark story behind the gesture. This case was getting to his head in a terrible, terrible way. Kendall would probably find the whole thing amusing and he wished he could be so carefree about the whole thing. Pretending to be gay was one thing; after all, it wouldn't be the first time his sexuality was questioned and he was fine with that. The whole pain and abuse part… well… he'd had enough in his own life to feel fine about it. He was nervous as hell about it, and although he wanted to believe he was going to be kept safe, he couldn't help but wonder what could become of him of some bad guy fancied him as a boy toy…

Once they were left alone, Angell's smile faltered a bit. She took an uncertain step back, her eyes looking everywhere but into his, and Flack noticed it.

"You okay?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral and his act together.

"Fine. Just need a bit more practice dominating these things from hell"

Her tone was also neutral, and almost managed to conceal the slight tremor in her voice. Almost. But not enough for him not to noticed that as well. But if she was going to play professional and pretend nothing had happened, he could extend her the same courtesy and play the same game.

"Shall we go then?" he asked, extending his arm in front of him, as if showing her the way.

"In a moment. I think I'd better go to the ladies room now. Lord knows when we'll be able to take a break. Why don't you go ahead and tell the boys I'll be there in a minute or two?"

He noticed she was still avoiding his eyes, and it hurt him, but he knew he had only himself to blame for that, so he put up his most cheerful smile.

"Whatever my mistress wants, my mistress gets…" he pronounced, bowing deeply in front of her, allowing her to walk in front of him without having to face him again.

That got her to chuckle and shake her head in disbelief as she clumsily made her way to the bathroom. Once the door was closed behind her, he allowed himself to crumble into the bench, his head between his hands, defeat written all over his hunched back.

He had blown it and he knew it. Whatever delicate balance had existed in their yet undefined relationship was now lost and probably would not be recoverable. He couldn't explain what had gotten into him, why he had reacted so strongly to her presence. Oh, he knew he found her attractive… more than attractive actually, and this wasn't the first time he'd gotten a hard-on on her behalf, either. She was too darn sexy, part of it being her utter lack of knowledge about it, which made ogling her even more delightful as she appeared to be clueless half the time.

But that same lack of awareness proved tricky every now and then, when her touch, innocent on her part, inflamed his sexual awareness. Her mouth had driven him to distraction more than once, and he could spend hours sitting at his desk or inside the car wondering just how it'd feel under his own mouth… or running over his body… or… he stopped that train of thought there. He already knew that Jennifer Angell sucking on an ice cream cone was a sight worthy of a dozen nights jerking off in the shower; he didn't need the visuals just then to make matters even worse.

Sighing, he got up, and with one last look at the bathroom door, he headed the other way, to face the guys from vice, and see what other crazy idea they had come up with since they'd last met.

Inside the bathroom, Angell was holding on to the sink for dear life and the high-heeled boots had nothing to do with it this time around. She held on tight because otherwise she wouldn't stop shaking and that simply wouldn't do. She couldn't show him that she was afraid… in her mind she could hear her father's voice booming: _"Jezebel Jennifer Angell… the moment you show fear they'll eat you alive… you got too be better than them simply because you're better than them…"_ Good ole Sergeant Angell, always pushing his only daughter to do even better than his four sons.

And it had helped. It had helped survive four older siblings who first tried very hard to put her down because she was a girl, and then had simply forgotten that she was, indeed, a girl, simply treating her like another one of them. For years, she'd simply been J.J. Angell, one of the Angell boys, all going by their initials, some of them well into their Academy days, and T-K still used it to date; Angell wasn't sure if his coworkers knew that his name was really Thomas Kenneth. J.J. Angell, however, had died the day she hit puberty, when the fact that she was a female could no longer be hidden from simple view… and her mother had firmly set her foot against her running around with the boys anymore.

It had made her more determined to prove she was as good as any of her male relatives and peers. To be continually put to the test was nothing new to her, and she'd learned to thrive from those tests; she'd even come to expect them.

But now it was Flack who was testing her. Flack, whom she considered her closest and dearest friend. Flack, whom she regarded as a mentor and example. Flack, who had voiced doubts regarding the whole undercover assignment in general and her participation in particular. Flack had come to her apparent rescue only to test her and see if she was ready for this particular job and she had failed miserably.

She'd failed because she was not going to pull dressing the part as flawlessly as she should. She'd failed because she hadn't seen his test coming and had not been prepared to deal with the situation in an effective manner. She'd failed because another coworker had seen her weak and disoriented.

But she had failed mainly because she had allowed herself to react to him. Or rather, to his body. The biggest no-no in her book and she'd tossed it so casually out of the window. Thank goodness Adam had come in when he did or God only knew what would have happened next… but she was sure it would have involved plenty of rubbing and moaning… and embarrassment. Loads and loads of embarrassment that she'd never be able to live down… she wasn't even sure she'd be able to look at him in the face and not feel her cheeks burning. What Flack thought of her now, she didn't want to think, but it'd certainly not be good. She told herself that she'd have to prepare herself, for there was a good chance they'd pull her out of the mission as soon as he shared his evaluation with Capt and the Vice squad.

And yet she knew she couldn't hide in this bathroom forever. She had already stayed in there for far too long, and it didn't help her case one bit to be perceived as unreliable and unpunctual. Steeling her shoulders with ram rod determination, she made her way into the conference room that had been set up as ops central.

The sight that greeted her upon her arrival was one of compete chaos and uncertainty. Adam had not been joking when he'd said Vice had robbed blind half the adult shops in Manhattan and borrowed stuff from the other half. Piled on the corner table were mountains of movies, mostly gay and bondage judging by the titles. Leather, pleather and PVC clothing hung from a rack that had been wheeled in, and a quick overlook told her that nothing in there was meant for her to wear.

The "main attraction" however, was sitting at the center table. Carefully separated in small piles lay everything a mistress or a bondage practitioner could ever dream of: ball gags, blindfolds, clamps, collars, leashes, cuffs and restraints. Everything in different sizes and materials and even colors, although black seemed to be the color of choice. Angell watched silently as her coworkers took in the display. Sheldon picked everything up, analyzing it as if it were some sort of medical equipment, no doubt gauging usage and amount of pain/pleasure it would inflict on the bearer. Adam, it was clear he wanted no part of the whole scenario, and pretended to be engrossed in the movie titles and summaries, well away from all the bondage paraphernalia. Flack seemed to have taken a sudden interest in the leather clothing, touching garments here and there. It was Messer, however, who took to the whole experience like a small kid in a candy shop, trying everything on, with a non-stop commentary of how he'd use each item if he were calling the shots.

"Okay, gentlemen, I think we've goofed around enough…" Agnetti's voice was loud and clear and left no room for arguments. "If we brought this stuff in here is not for your personal enjoyment, but rather, for your education. Knowing this stuff might come in handy, and it might even save your life. Until Detective Angell makes contact with the ring pimp, we have no idea which one of you will be chosen as "trial test" and believe me, you'll be expected to deliver the goods in the most believable way possible… Angell will make sure things stop short of intercourse, but in the meantime you'll have to play the part and you'll have to know what goes where and how to call it by name. So start working on getting to know your new tools of the trade…"

Nine pairs of male eyes looked at the oldest Vice detective with a mixture of horror and shock. It was one thing to play pretend and another one, quite different, to be expected to carry it out to its last consequences. Right then and there they finally understood why female agents hated getting hooker details, as it finally dawned on them that it entailed a lot more than just wearing skimpy clothes and strutting on a street corner. The risk was real, the risk was there, and one of them was going to feel the burn pretty soon.

Angell, in the meantime, had gotten herself busy with a box Maya Rodriguez had labeled with her name. Inside she found another couple of leather corsets, black makeup, and a velvet and leather choker. At the very bottom, she found two items which immediately attracted her attention, and the moment she closed her hands on them, she could feel the transformation complete. Moments before, she had merely been Jennifer, playing dress up in nice leather clothes. But the moment she got hold of the 24 inch riding crop and the cat-o-nine tails she became Mistress Jezebel. Turning around, she cracked the small whip against the table, making everyone stand straight and pay attention.

"Just thought I'd check if my boys had not forgotten how to take orders" she commented slyly when Agnetti shot her a strange look.

She began walking about the room, finally in control of the boots, her almost 6 feet tall figure clad in leather silently demanding respect. One by one, each of the men that had been asked to play the part adopted a submissive attitude as she approached them. Even Messer trembled a bit when he felt the crop sliding down his leg as she walked by. Agnetti and the Capt exchanged satisfied glances. Angell was going to deliver the goods, there was now no doubt about it.

She'd left Flack to the very last on purpose, wanting to show him that, if she'd failed before, she wouldn't fail again. He stood, straight and tall, hands in front of him, eyes on the table before him. He knew what was expected of him, the slightest indicator that he couldn't play the part would have him kicked out of the op and that was the last thing he wanted just then and there. Angell wasn't the only Homicide cop who didn't trust Vice to keep their end of their deals… and damned if he was going to let her get into any unnecessary danger without adequate backup.

His good intentions, however, did not shield him from the cacophony of mixed feelings screaming inside of him: he wanted to stop that riding crop mid-air and show her who was boss, he wanted to drop to his knees and kiss his way up from her boots, he wanted to take her away from it all and shower her in flowers and wine, he wanted to bend her over and ride her like there was no tomorrow, he wanted to be the one who taught her how to make love and he wanted to fuck her brains out until she'd never even consider touching another man in her life. He simply wanted her.

His nervousness was betrayed by his hands, which kept on playing with a leather bracelet he had just picked up when Angell began passing inspection. She stood behind him and looked over his shoulder to see what he was doing. He could feel the heat emanating from her and had to will himself to remain still. Her warm breath on his ear as she came closer to speak to him did little to help his case.

"A studded cock and ball harness Don… who would have thought?"

And with that, she was gone.

X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews so far! I'd also like to thank all the kind readers who took their time to go and vote. The muse and I ar****e forever grateful… three first places and 2 second places! We'd never made it without you!**


	4. Training Days

A/N: For it was not meant to be a plummeting fall into the darkness, but rather a gentle spiral, slow, so very slow, that by the time they realized how far off the were gone it was too late to turn back…

**A/N: For it was not meant to be a plummeting fall into the darkness, but rather a gentle spiral, ****slow, so very slow, that by the time they realized how far off the were gone it was too late to turn back…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

The next couple of days had been a whirlwind of activity for all the agents involved in the case, but that didn't mean Flack got to see much of Angell. Rumor had it, if you paid attention to such things, that Vice had asked a retired Madame, dominatrix extraordinaire, to teach her the ropes of the business so her performance would be credible enough for the johns to buy it. If they had asked him, which they hadn't, that had been money unwisely spent… she had it pat down the moment she cracked that whip for the first time.

Maybe he and Messer were no experts on the subject (although he could only vouch for himself, you never knew with that wacko friend of his), but she seemed imposing enough, tempting enough, dangerous enough… hell, just about everything "enough" for him to feel like falling to his knees and worshipping forever. Messer hadn't gone as far as saying the worship part, or the forever for that matter, but he had accepted that the whole experience had been "scaringly arousing" or "arousingly scaring", whichever you preferred. Pino had been aroused and Adam… Adam had just been scared. Doc Hawkes could not be reached for comment.

Vice had done other hiring as well, and the 7 guys in the op had spent the last 48 hours being trained by Gaston, Lady Santa's most trusted right hand aid, a retired gay escort. Eyebrows had been raised and the proverbial waste would have hit the fan had the brass not made clear that they were to pay attention, learn to play the part and keep their whining confined to the locker room where neither Gaston, nor the higher ups, could hear it. Preferably to be done under the shower, so no one could hear it, period. They had been an interesting 2 days, to say the least.

Gaston might had been an old queer, but he was tough as nails, Brooklyn born and bred, and took shit from no one. Having been trained in the sadomasochist world, he was worse than a drill sergeant and expected the men to work their asses off pulling this gig. Although it would only be one, two tops, who'd be chosen as some sort of "free tasting" to the pervs, it was yet unknown who the chosen one would be, therefore, they all had to know how to play the part, and play it convincingly.

The first lessons had been relatively easy… the walking, the sitting down, the gestures while talking. Gibbons, Adam and Hawkes pulled it off almost instantly; Gibbons and Pino were almost hopeless, both looking far too "manly" to be believable. Gaston decided they'd get to play the dominant part, which required a less gentle side, but that didn't mean he wouldn't work them to the ground, as they needed more training than a submissive type.

Next came some tips on how to dress and present themselves. Loud curses were heard on the whole floor as seven manly men got acquainted with the modern form of torture known as waxing; Gaston managed to quiet them down a bit when he explained that the "winner" of the mission would have to get his nether regions waxed as well. Then came manicures, pedicures and facials, and Flack had to admit those were some things he wouldn't mind getting used to… although he'd draw a line at the clear polish on his nails or the citrusy smell of the aftershave they used on him.

Things started to get uncomfortable from then on. They had seen all the "toys" Vice had to offer them, but it was one thing to see them and another one, quite different to sit through a Tupperware presentation of them, with Gaston and two other escorts, one dominant and one submissive, explaining their virtues and how to enhance the whole experience for both partners. And once they had gotten the theory, they had to do the practice, and that's when most of them actually begged to call it quits.

After a two hour practice session Flack headed for the showers before heading home. He felt sweaty and grimy and he was sure he was also bloodied from the way his back stung under his shirt. Worse of all, he felt dirty, and not the kind of dirt that soap could wash away, no matter how hard he scrubbed. He hadn't minded being strapped to the wall and gagged, at least, he hadn't minded much. The gently whipping had smarted but he had taken in all in stride, and Gaston had commented he was a rare find, for tall subs were hard to come by. But then their "coach" had decided to switch roles and that's when all hell had broken loose inside of him.

He had no trouble tying up Messer, or rough-handling Garcia, or even hooding and gagging Hawkes. But when Gaston had handed him a paddle and directed him to spank Adam, he had to draw the line. He simply couldn't do it, it felt too damn much like abuse and he had dropped the paddle. Flack didn't know what had been worse; the disproving look on Gaston's face, the knowing look on Messer's… or the thankful look on Adam's. He had sworn to help and defend those who could not speak for themselves, and Adam had been such a person in a not so distant past. And although the physical scars had long since faded, Flack knew that the emotional ones were still there, some as raw as the day they had been inflicted. For the hundredth time that year, he cursed Vice for having come into his territory and messing with the people he loved most.

He stayed under the water spray until it had gone form scalding to lukewarm and then to freezing cold and all three temperatures had felt good for different reasons. He knew the worst part of the training was yet to come, that all bondage and the primping were just the icing on the cake. Tomorrow, they all would face the hardest test of all, and Gaston had made it quite clear that if they couldn't pass it, they were out of the op for good. And getting kicked out was not an option for Flack, not when there was Messer and the Doc and Adam and Angell to protect. He knew they were all in danger, and he'd see that no harm would come his way, not on his watch, not if he had some breath inside of him to stop it from happening.

That meant that he had 8 hours to mentally and emotionally prepare himself for what was coming. And if he was going to go through with it, he'd do it on his terms. And that could only mean one thing for him. He sat in the locker room, still wrapped in a towel, water dripping on his shoulders and chest, and he took out his phone. He quickly scrolled down his contacts number until he reached the one he was looking for. Three times his thumb went to press the "call" button, and three times he stopped himself from doing it, uncertain as to what the repercussions of that call would be. In the end, duty overrode everything else and he pushed the button before he had yet another chance to change his mind. His call was answered after two rings.

"Bry? Don here. Can I drop by your place after your shift ends?"

While the boys had been busy with Gaston, Angell had been taking a crash course in domineering. Lady Alexa knew everything there was to know about the business, and upon meeting Angell she hadn't been sure the detective had what it took. Now, two days later, Lady Alexa had to admit that the girl had determination, even if her heart wasn't really set into the business.

So Angell had learned how to tie people up, how to make the knots firm enough but not too loose so people could get away easily. She learned about different forms of bondage, and the different materials and techniques that could be used; she learned the difference between leather and chains and ropes, and which suited best each purpose. She learned about hooding and blindfolding and gagging and how each item took away the other person's will, until he or she became submissive. She learned a lot about control issues, and how to assert her position of power with her mere presence. And then she learned about pain.

Flogging. Whipping. Canning. Clamping nipples and labia and scrotums. Cock rings that kept erections going on forever, with cocks so engorged one might think gangrene would set in any minute. Spanking with smooth objects just to get a tingling glow going, and spanking with texturized paddles so sensitive skin would tear and bleed. The riding crop became an extension of her hand and the cat-o-nine tails began moving in any which direction she chose. Lady Alexa had her practice using both at the same time, then switching hands and doing it all over again until she could control them both enough to hit intended targets with the amount of force she wished to apply.

She also learned about complete dominion and how to make a man break and become submissive and subservient to her every wish. Angell knew she'd never use that kind of knowledge, as she felt it too degrading to have someone reduced to a no-name entity that could take all sorts of abuse. Lady Alexa told her she was too much of a weakling if she couldn't stand the idea of peeing into someone's mouth, or walking on top of a naked person using high stiletto heels and actually causing puncture wounds. Angell told her she only needed to know enough as to play the part convincingly during a couple of "interviews", just long enough to nail the bastards.

Lady Alexa had laughed at her, telling her that once she'd tasted power she'd never let go of it, and that she'd see what Lady Alexa meant when she took her final training. Angell had vehemently denied it, saying it wasn't in her personality, but as she showered at the end of the day, she couldn't help but wonder if Lady Alexa had some inkling of truth in her words. Angell had been a victim once, early in her days in the force, and she had chosen to become a survivor. She knew what it was like to be on the receiving end, she could never actually enjoy being the one actively inflicting pain. Even if she'd found, much to her surprise, that she was preferring leather to lace…

Flack had dressed up as casually as possible, jeans and a warm tee, and had gone down to the bullpen to sign for some paperwork before heading out. He was surprised to find Angell at her desk at that time of night, assuming she'd have gone home after finishing her training. Everybody else had done so. He approached her and saw that she was also dressed down, tee and jeans… and the damned leather boots.

"I'm starting to think you're even going to bed with those things on…" he greeted cheerfully, although he mentally cursed himself for the imagery his own words had conjured in his mind.

"Wouldn't you just love to find that out…" she greeted back, flashing a goofy smile. She had missed their daily banter these past two days.

Knowing he was busted, Flack decided to change topics.

"What are you still doing here?" he asked.

"I'm actually waiting for…" her pager going off interrupted her. "This. Come, I want to show you something."

Flack followed her downstairs to the garage. There, sitting by itself but quietly owning the place, was a motorcycle. It wasn't new, not by any means, but the miles it had gathered gave it an even more impressive look.

""Whoa! What's that babe doing here?" Flack exclaimed, his eyes shining like a kid's on Christmas morning.

"Babe is getting fitted with a GPS system and well as video and audio recording devices. Babe is my new ride" Angell announced, a teasing tone in her voice, knowing Flack would love to take the bike for a spin or two…

"Didn't know you could ride those…"

"Been riding since I was tall enough to climb on it…"

"Okay, so you've been riding bikes for a couple of months now…" he ducked to avoid the not-so-playful punch she threw at him.

"Don't start with me, Donald Duck, or I'll swear I'll kick your sorry ass into next week…"

"Easy on the name calling, JEZABEL…" he glared back. "Please tell me that beauty ain't yours…"

"So what if it were?" Angell loved challenging him, leading him on, seeing how far he'd go before crying uncle.

"Then I guess I'd have to marry you" he deadpanned, looking at her straight in the eye.

"Well, it's your lucky day, Detective Flack. It so happens to belong to my brother…"

"For a moment there, you had me worrying…" he grinned.

"And for a moment there, you had me worried! What do you know about bikes, anyway? " she asked, walking towards the machine.

"Enough to know you're about to get on a Harley Davidson Low Glide, probably a 96 or 97, with custom made handlebars and saddlebags…"

"I'm impressed…"

She smiled at him and climbed on top of the motorcycle, giving Flack ample opportunity to gawk and salivate. Hot bike being ridden by even hotter chick that definitively had to make his top five fantasies, even more so when the hot chick was Jenn Angell… that woman's ass was made to wear jeans, so help him God.

She started the engine and looked at him over her shoulder, smiling.

"Can I give you a ride anywhere, Detective?"

If Flack hadn't known better, he could have sworn she was coming on to him, laying on her game and thick as it came. And he was going to fall for it if he wasn't careful. It was bad enough that he was already fantasizing about her legs clad in leather or her ass clad in denim, he didn't need to add sexual come-ons to the list.

"Nah, I'm good. I'm meeting a friend after shift anyway. But I'm willing to accept a rain check…"

She smiled at him before putting on the helmet. Gunning the bike, she left the garage without looking back and suddenly Flack felt very alone. Sighing, he went outside and flagged down a cab, giving the driver and address he hadn't mentioned in a long time. Shortly after ten, he found himself knocking at the door of one of his former Academy classmates.

Bryan March opened promptly and showed him inside. It wasn't long before Flack was sitting down, a beer in his hand, all niceties and catching up done. Bryan sat there, quietly waiting for the blue-eyed man to tell him what had brought him to his home after nearly five years since his last visit. Flack knew Bryan was waiting, and he found it best to stop stalling and get over with it before he lost his nerve.

"Bry… do you still have a crush on me?"

X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X

**A/N: Remember... slow build-up. Torture is good for the soul. Next chapter will deal with homosexuality, abuse and rape, so be patient with me if I don't' update too soon… writing that kind of stuff is hard and it takes its ****toll.**


	5. Above and Beyond Duty

**A/N: How far are you willing to go for duty? And for love?**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

Bryan looked at Flack with a blank expression that made the blue-eyed detective very uncomfortable.

"I'd never pegged you for a self-centered bastard, Flack" Bryan said after a long silence.

"I'm stuck in a case and I need your help… but I need to know if you still harbor any feelings for me before I do so."

"Why?"

"Because if you still do I'm out of that door right now… the case is important, but not enough to hurt you in any way…"

"Still wearing that shiny armor, huh?"

"Tarnished and bludgeoned more like it."

Bryan smiled and both men stayed silent, drinking their beers.

"So tell me about this case of yours…"

"You haven't answered my question."

"You haven't been paying attention, have you?"

Bryan got up to get them both another bottle of beer, leaving Flack alone to look around the apartment. Pictures of Bryan during their Academy days, some photos of his family and then, photos of another man adorned the walls and shelves. Flack took his time looking at these pictures; pictures where Bryan and this other man looked happy and, dared he say it? in love. He stopped at a framed photograph of them both, posing outside a hall of justice, holding out a piece of paper and their hands sporting wedding bands. And Flack felt happy and envious for his friend.

When Bryan returned, he handed Flack his drink and motioned towards the framed picture that had caught his attention. "Robert and I got married last year. We drove to Canada for that. We're hoping we'll be able to make it legal some day here in New York, but we're not holding our breaths…"

"Congratulations…"

"So… the case?"

Flack took a long swig of his beer and told Bryan everything he knew about the case so far.

"So… you're finally going gay?"

"Bryan…"

"Just kidding, Flack."

"I'm sorry, I'm just… I dunno, Bry, it just doesn't sit well with me…"

"Is it the gay angle or the whole case?"

"I'd be lying if I told you it was just the whole case. Vice has this tendency of screwing up things and Jess is feigning a confidence that she simply doesn't have and…"

"Jess?"

"Jess Angell? Homicide?"

"TK's baby sister? That Angell?"

"If by TK you mean TK Angell from Narc, yeah, that Angell"

"How does she come into all this mess?"

"She's playing our mistress"

"Sounds kinky. Why doesn't she like Vice?"

"I don't know for sure. She's worked with them before and she got burned bad."

"Well, I don't trust Vice either, and I haven't worked with them, so I can empathize."

"You know how that is, then…"

"And what do you need from me?"

Flack stalled a bit by taking another swig form his beer. It had seemed like a very simple and practical idea when he had had it at the locker room, but now that he was actually sitting there with Bryan…

"Gaston and his pals can teach me how to act gay and feminine and that's all fine and dandy, but that ain't gonna cut it when the things finally go down. Bottom line is, I'm supposed to be an experienced gay hooker and I haven't got the slightest clue as to how to go about… well… you know… hitting on a guy…"

There. He had said it. The thing that had been weighing on in his mind since he'd been given the assignment was now in the open with the only person he could discuss it openly with.

"And you want me to tell you what it's like?"

"No"

"No?"

"I want you to show me"

Bryan looked at Flack long and hard. He had known him for a long time, long enough to know that the sparkle of determination that shone in his eyes meant he was dead serious about it. Flack was anything but thorough, a characteristic that had also gotten him chosen when it came to undercover work, as he did his research and he played the part to perfection, down to the very minute detail.

"Are you serious?"

"Would I be here if I weren't?"

"What do you want to know?"

Flack hesitated for a moment. He had expected the question, but was uncertain as how to answer it.

"I know the mechanics. Pretty much like a straight relationship in most part. If forced, I don't think I'd have much problem kissing or touching Messer, or the Doc… even Adam. I know they have my back and I have theirs and the trust we have is enough to pull this off. But… can I pull it off with a perfect stranger? Will I manage to fake excitement for a man's touch?"

"If it's a stranger you want, I can recommend Ollie's Bar… the backrooms are highly educational…"

"I'm sorry Bry… I didn't mean to imply you're a stranger or that I don't trust you. It's just… fuck, how do I say this? I could "fake" kissing" Messer and it'd be okay, because he'd be faking it too, but the guys we're dealing with are expecting the real thing and I'm not sure I can deliver it…"

"And finding out if you can or cannot when you're already in front of them would be terrible timing, wouldn't it?"

"Exactly!"

"So you want to give it a test drive and see if you manage to sorta convince me?"

Flack took a moment to ponder the consequences before answering.

"Yes"

"You're fucking insane!"

"Is that a no?"

"Fuck, Don..."

Flack got up.

"It's okay, March. It probably was a stupid idea to begin with. You do understand I had to try with you first. Ollie's Bar, you said, right? The one a couple of blocks from Broadway?"

"Shut up and sit down. And don't even dare that slight smile of yours. You ain't that cute anymore. I'm a married man, Don. Coaching you feels a helluva lot like cheating"

The barely there smile vanished immediately.

"I'm sorry Bryan. I… I simply didn't think… God, I'm so stupid. I'm really sorry. Look, forget I said anything, okay?"

A hand waived away the apology.

"Don't mention it." Silence. "What's Plan B? And don't mention Ollie's again or I'll swear to God I'll break that cute lil jaw of yours…"

A half smile. "I dunno. I guess I could always register at a motel and call an escort service… and pray for the best…"

"Is this really necessary? I mean, really?" Concern.

"Of all the involved in the gig, I'm the only one that can actually pull this off. Pino and Hawkes have no undercover training, and neither does Ross… besides, I'd never forgive myself if something happened to that kid. Bartolucci is way too green, Gibbons doesn't quite give off a gay vibe and Danny… Danny's just too messed up lately for me to trust him…"

"What about the Angell kid? Can she pull up her share of the weight? Enough to cover up appearances?"

"Yes. She's capable. She's more than capable, but…"

"But?"

Silence.

"Flack? What is it that you're not telling me?" Understanding dawning. "Christ on a fucking crutch. All this is about her, isn't it? Isn't it?"

"She's my partner. I'm supposed to protect her. She expects me to have her back. What if the perp chooses me and I blow it and she ends up dead because of it? She's putting her ass on the line and I still don't' know if I'm gonna be able to deliver!"

Green eyes piercing blue ones.

"Same old Saint Donald…" muttered under breath. "Wait here. Don't you dare fucking move."

Bryan moved to the back of the apartment, leaving Flack sitting on the couch, uncertain as to what to do or what to expect. The other cop returned after a couple of minutes.

"I'll help you"

"But I thought you said…"

"Robert, God bless his loving soul, is okay with it"

"You told him?" Shock.

Shoulders shrugged. "We don't keep much secret between us"

"I don't know what to say…"

"Just say what you want me to teach you and say it quick before I change my mind. And for the love of God, don't even think about saying thank you or I'll kick your bony ass outta my place for good!"

Nervous smiles. Nervous silence. Fingers fiddling. A moment went by. An eternity. Such a simple request, yet such a big impact on both their lives.

"Oh, for Chrissakes!"

Bryan stood up and pulled Don up with him. His arms went up around him, his hands firmly holding his head, as his lips sought his. Flack was taken aback momentarily, but allowed himself to be lead. Not unpleasant, just… different. Different because he was used to softer lips nipping at his; different because he was used to taking the dominant role, whereas here he was passive recipient; the whole experience simple different… and comfortably pleasurable. He wondered if he'd feel the same kissing a man he hadn't known before and he guessed not. He wondered if the whole sex thing was more a matter of feelings and emotions and caring for the person than actually a difference between men and women. He wondered and enjoyed, and when Bryan's tongue sought his, he allowed it entrance.

The man could kiss, that much was true, and Flack felt his head grow dizzy and his groin grow tight. His arms that had hung limply by his side till then were now moving on their own accord, moving to surround Bryan, moving to bring him closer. His tongue now an active participant. His body responding to the stimuli. His mind at ease, comfortable. Comfortable Bryan, good old Bryan, Bryan whom he had trusted with his life when they had both been rookies. Comfortable, yet terribly arousing.

His body stiffened with rejection, however, when he felt Bryan's hand sliding down his chest. Flack tried to cover it, but wasn't quick enough or good enough at it, as the other man felt it. "Close your eyes," Bryan murmured, "and pretend I'm her". Flack didn't question who her was, or how Bryan knew just who her was, but did as told. Bryan's hand slow danced its way from his neck to his nipples to his abs to the slight bulge in his jeans. He stroked him once, twice and then gave him a light squeeze at the same time Bryan playfully bit Flack's lower lip.

Flack whimpered.

Time stood still.

Bryan gently pushed him away and took a couple of steps back, turning away from him. "I'm going for a smoke out there, if you wish to join me" he murmured, and left.

Flack stood in the middle of the room uncertain as to what had just happened. And he didn't feel like analyzing it at that moment. Or at any given moment in the near future. He climbed out to the fire escape stairs and silently took the cigarette that had equally silently been offered. He lit up and leaned against the wall, hiding in the shadows as effectively as the other man had done.

"Thought you had quit smoking"

"Though YOU had quit"

Night sounds filled the space between them.

"Bryan, I'm…"

"Don't say it"

"But I mean it"

"I know you do. That's enough. I don't want to hear you say you're sorry. I'm not."

"But…"

"No buts. Ten years ago I would have killed for that kiss Donnie. Funny thing is, it wasn't even half as good as I had expected it to be. Sorry to say, my friend, you're one sorry homo…"

"Bryan…"

"Call it quits, babe. You ain't gonna pull it off. You're too much of a manly man for it"

"I thought it wasn't that bad…"

"Actually it wasn't… if you're supposed to be calling the shots, which you weren't. Maybe I could teach you how to feel halfway comfortable touching and being touched by another man. Perhaps I might even be able to teach you how to give a half-decent head. But I can't teach you how to not-lead, Donnie. You simply don't have a submissive bone in your body."

"Fuck…"

"I don't' think you'd be willing to go that far… but if you were, you'd never be a bottom, babe. You were born to be tops, to lead, to have the upper hand. This ain't gonna work, no matter how much you try. I'm sorry Don."

"Is there anything…?"

"No. Trust me on this one. You're screwed. Maybe if you had more time. Like half a lifetime of time. But not in 2 days. It's simply not you…"

Another silence where one man wished he could read the other one's mind. The soft red light at the end of the cigarette flicked and described a beautiful arch as it started its way five floors down.

"Thanks anyway, Bry"

"Don't' mention it"

"Gotta go"

"What're you going to do now?"

Shoulder shrug that said nothing and yet said everything at the same time.

"Mind a word of advice here?"

"Sure"

"Tell her. And for the love of God, stay away from Ollie's Bar!"

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and the comments thus far! Up next: photographs**


	6. Pictures of us

**A/N: I ****apologize for taking so long in updating; real life, my health and the muse cannot seem to find a mutual agreement that satisfies all parties involved in the fic creative process. Thank you for your patience and for accepting and liking Bryan March so much.**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

He had trolled the streets, restless. She had tossed in bed, unable to sleep. They both knew what was coming their way when the sun came up and they both feared it, yet were determined to face it.

X xxx X

Despite Bryan's warnings, Flack went into a bar. He stayed away from Ollie's, but found an unobtrusive stool at a small place called "Clover". He wasn't there to interact, but to watch and learn, and he took some silly sort of pride when he had to turn down four drinks four different men sent his way. Sticking to soda, he observed as couples interacted and the ancient art of flirting took its sweet time with the patrons. And he was hit on, plenty. He soon discovered that his blue eyes were an extremely popular feature, even more so when paired with his boyish smile. He wasn't too surprised to see that the pick up lines were the same old lame ones he'd used sometime in the last fifteen years. Everyone, it seemed, had game of one sort or another.

Collin, the bar tender, a soft spoken Irish lad, got curious about him and wanted to know his story. Flack told him that he was yet undecided about coming out of the closet or not, wondering if he was bi or gay or what. Collin examined him carefully and diagnosed a rampant case of bisexual duality and then had to laugh at Flack's blank and horrified expression. Collin then explained that, in his opinion, he was not only capable of being bisexual, but also capable of being both dominant and submissive, which was a rare quality. Duty called Collin back to tending bar, and he left with parting words of advice: "Start wearing leather… and dark eyeliner."

It was nearly three in the morning when he finally reached his home. He slept, but he didn't rest.

X xxx X

Cap called her in first thing in the morning, before she went to get more practice ("torture" she told herself) with Lady Alexa and her toy boys, and for that, she was grateful. The dominatrix had mentioned that today she'd actually have to inflict all sorts of physical pain and degradation on one of her "slaves" and Angell wasn't looking forward to that in the least, no matter how much the other woman insisted the slave got off on it.

She sat in his office and he silently slid her a leather bound album. It was her "boys" portfolio, with four photographs of each one of them: the candid, bare-chest shot, the leather-fetish lovers shot, the playful soft-core playgirl shot and the downright pornographic full-Monty photograph, and Angell wondered if her relationship with her coworkers would ever be the same after this case from hell was over.

Cap left her alone so she could privately study the photographs, not before warning her that the material was highly confidential and no one, not even the agents involved in the op, were to see those photos.

She studied Gibbons, Bartolucci and Pino first, given that she could do it with a more detached frame of mind, as no feeling other than coworker respect lay there. Gibbons had done the cowboy thing, Bartolucci was channeling Valentino and Pino had no trouble buying into the playboy role, as he posed on the hood of a Ferrari Angell smirked as she recalled having impounded the car herself during a recent drug bust. She also couldn't help but feel some devilish satisfaction at Bartolucci's naked photo; the man's Monday morning bragging of his weekend feats grated her nerves… and it was obvious from this shot that he had very little to brag about.

Next photo was Sheldon's and Angell wondered if they had rubbed him with some sort of oil to have his mahogany skin glistening like that under the open doctor's coat. She found his photo sitting, seemingly naked, on a medical stool, very artistic, and thought that, done in black and white, it would be gallery material. The long leather gauntlets, the shoulder harness and half-mask gave him a menacing look, which she found unsettling; as she wound never associate the good doctor with anything other than kindness. And she also found herself blushing when she saw his fully naked shot, when the first thought that crossed her head was that some stereotypes were so for a reason… for some very good reason, indeed!

Angell moved next to Danny's portfolio. He'd gone for the Marlon Brandon / biker bad boy look and there was no denying the man knew it looked good on him. His naked torso had been smeared here and there with bike grease and neither his glasses nor his dog tags were anywhere to be found. The lit cigarette, the bottle of beer, the classic low ride… they had thrown in every single prop they could think of and it looked good. Real good. Besides, he wasn't ashamed of showing off his body and, unlike the previous "models", he was standing "full attention" in his totally naked shot. No wonder Lindsay came humming into work the mornings after she'd spent the night with him.

Adam's photographs put a smile in her face. He looked… he looked… well, for lack of a better term, she'd have to say he looked utterly "adorkable". He was sporting a mix between preppy school boy and computer geek look, and it suited him to perfection. The baggy jeans, the opened shirt, the backpack slung over one shoulder, the unshaven face… everything in him screamed "adopt me, I'm cuddly". The leather codpiece and choker gave him a lost puppy dog look, once more of the adopt me variety, more inspiring of tenderness than meanness. His casually naked pic was also quite funky and funny: him laying on a bench, headphones on, only covered by a portable Cd-player. The full frontal nude photo was startling in its simplicity: just him standing against a white wall, eyes closed, legs crossed at the ankles, hands placed behind his back. Vulnerability was almost palpable. If Kendall ever did hurt him, Angell would personally seek her and demonstrate everything she'd learned the past two days in excruciating detail. That much had Adam made her feel for him.

She could give ten plausible different reasons off the top of her head as to why she'd left Flack for last, and not one of them would be close to the truth. She was basically hoping that now that she'd seen the other guys in different states of undress and seductive posing she'd be shell-shocked enough as to be able to see his photos with a decent amount of professional objectivity. Oh, she had seen her share of Flack flesh; she'd been on the rotating babysitting team after the bombing, having been one of the few who had actually changed his dressing or given him a sponge bath, but it would have been too wrong to ogle him in his moment of greatest pain.

The Flack she was about to see was a totally different ball game; it was the Flack she'd see if they ever went out on a date, if he ever put his "non-existent" moves on her… the Flack she would find hard to resist if he ever set out to seduce her.

His first photo was a throwback to the spy case he had been in less than a year ago, when he had been dating the socialite. There he stood, wearing his tux without the shirt, bow tie hanging undone around the neck, hands in his pockets, shoulder leaning against a doorframe, half smirk and five o'clock shadow running over his jaw-line… there was no way in hell this man didn't know just how gorgeous he was!

With trembling fingers she had not known trembled, Angell moved on to the next page… and her breath caught in her throat. The image had to be digitally altered, there was no other explanation… no one could have eyes that blue and certainly not Flack… she wouldn't be able to work, let alone think, if he looked at her with those eyes! He was wearing leather pants and cuffs and a leather hood where all you could see where his eyes… and the contrast was striking to say the least. Bright baby blues shining fiercely against the stark darkness of the hood, it was impossible to tear your eyes away from them.

It was with great effort that she managed to move to the next page where she was greeted by a Flack so casual that he wasn't even looking at the camera. With just a towel wrapped around his hips, he was rummaging around his locker, an "aww-shucks" expression gracing his face, making him look years younger and a bit of a goof-ball. You might even say he looked happy, just fooling around. Impossible not to fall for a guy like that…

She finally moved to his naked shot, and time stood still. The photograph was taken while he showered and it was stunning in its artistic nature: the head thrown back, the hands on his hair, the water streaming down his torso, cascading over his strong and lean legs… inasmuch as she wanted not to stare, it was impossible to avert her gaze from his half-erect displayed masculinity. Angell closed the book before she became too obsessed with the details of what was, in her opinion, a perfect physique, despite of the evident scarring here and there.

The book might have been closed, but the image was imprinted in her mind and soul, searing her.

X xxx X

They were taken to spend the day at Lady Alexa's "House of Pain" so they could watch and learn and then practice a bit. None of the seven men were too eager to get to the last part of the day's schedule, and the levels of comfort with the first two varied from the "all-for-it" to the "are-you-out-of-your-mind?" and everything in between, but they kept it to themselves as much as they could, although their expressions betrayed them every now and then.

Gaston led them through a darkened corridor, stopping every few feet to watch through a one-way mirror into a different room while the gay conductor described what scenario was taking place before then, under what circumstances would they have to face such scenario, and what would be expected from them in each case. The information was received with grim faces and tight-lipped nods; the situation turning more and more real each passing minute: in less than 36 hours one of them was going to actually have to perform one of the acts they have seen so far in order to keep a cover that might bring a prostitution ring down and keep them and detective Angell alive long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

They were watching a flogging scene, each one of them grimacing when the whip landed square on the male's more tender parts, when Flack thought he heard something familiar. He turned his head towards the darkened corridor, all his senses on maximum alert, trying to place why the sound seemed so familiar. He looked at Gaston and the others, seemingly engrossed in the scene before them. He silently slid away until he reached the next window and looked inside.

The room was dimly lit, but the light was enough to be able to see what was going on.

A slave was kneeling in front of his mistress, a whirlwind of leather and dark chocolate hair, servicing her. A whip cracked. Stiletto heels pushed away. Flogging and orders followed. The slave, reduced to almost a non-entity wearing a hood with only an open mouth hole, in submissive obedience, complied. He laid, face down, on a padded contraption, and his mistress quickly proceeded to strap him in by the wrists and ankles, another leather belt running around his waist, making it impossible for him to move.

Flack's nostrils flared when Angell came into the light; cat-suit and strap-on and unreadable expression in her face as she first forced the slave to fellate her, then moved around so she could sodomize him. All the while, her riding crop worked the man's back and thighs and her face never gave away a single emotion. He was about to move back to rejoin the group when he felt Messer standing next to him.

"Shit! Is that…?"

"Shhhhh!"

"Oh, fuck…"

X xxx X

"Do you think she'd do it?"

Flack and Messer were standing outside the bathroom door, waiting for Bartolucci to come out.

"I mean, if she had to, would she made us do… that?"

"She'll do what she has to do Danno, just like everybody else would. Nothing personal about it. It's not a matter of wanting or liking to do it…"

"But still…"

Retching noises from the inside had them opening the door and checking in on their coworker, who couldn't seem to stop throwing up. Not that either one of them blamed the poor man. Gaston had spent the last two hours training them on the fine art of fellatio, and none of them would ever feel the same way about a blowjob again. The starting point wasn't that bad, unless you felt a lifelong aversion against bananas.

The rest, however, had been sheer torture, as Gaston produced real-life looking dildos, bulging veins and scrotums included, and demanded they sucked on them. Most of them had done poorly, but Bartolucci… poor Bart had just given it a couple of tries and had vaulted to the bathroom, retching and gagging.

X xxx X

Training had ended. Lady Alexa was very pleased with the way things had gone with Angell, expressing high hopes for her into actually following a career in the business, whereas Gaston sincerely hoped nothing harder than dressing in leather and sitting when told was requested from his pupils or else they'd be dead.

Angell had been inside Capt's office for over an hour now, going over the last minute details of the operation, having arranged a time and place for the meeting. Wishing her good luck, Capt sent her her way, keeping his fingers crossed, wondering, not for the first time, if he had done the right thing by agreeing to help Vice in this crazy scheme.

Angell went down to the garage to pike up her motorbike. It had been submitted to one final test before her meeting with the pimp and now it sat there, waiting for her. And it wasn't waiting alone.

"Everything okay?"

"Couldn't be better"

"Two can play the game, you know…"

"You feel like playing?"

"Actually… no"

"So watcha feel like doing?"

Loaded question, even more so as he kept his blue eyes guarded and away from her.

"Is going to sleep and waking up when the case is over an option?"

"Afraid not"

"Then I guess what I feel like doing and what I'm going to do are nowhere near the same."

She walked past him, slid the photo album in the saddle bag and climbed into the motorbike.

"I suggest you go to bed and try to get some sleep Flack… if you get the winning number in this lotto from hell you're going to need it…"

"Jenn…"

Her name in his lips was enough to give her pause. She looked back to him and watched as he approached the bike and quickly straddled it, facing her, his legs resting atop hers, his hands on her hips.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Another test. But this time around she was ready. She leaned forwards, grabbing the handles, forcing him to lie down on his back and she gunned the bike to life. She rested her chest on his for a moment or two and carefully watched his every reaction, from the way he wetted his seemingly dry lips, to the way he swallowed hard, to how he closed his eyes momentarily before staring back into hers…

"Even if I weren't, Donnie, I wouldn't tell you."

He pushed himself to a sitting position, pulling her with him, painfully aware of the way her leather clad body molded to his, of the way her muscle legs moved underneath his, of how his own body reacted to her rhythm…

"Would you tell me about your fantasies if I asked you to do so?"

Hands sliding form hips to knees and back, voice dangerously low, eyes playfully dancing on the edge of her cleavage.

"Only if you're very, VERY good, Donnie…"

Words murmured in his ear, promises hinted at, heat forming and reaching boiling point.

"I can be very good when I want to…"

"Oh? Really?"

"Really…"

"Then start by getting off my bike, you moron! I'm running late!"

X xxx X

Two hours had gone by and Flack was still pacing about in his apartment. Angell had promised she'd call him as soon as she was done with the so-called interviewed, and he had promised himself he wouldn't go into full panic mode until after three hours and a half; then all bets would be off. He'd go running into the place, guns blazing, Vice case be damned.

Shortly before midnight he heard a knock on his front door and opened before his visitor had a chance to knock twice. There, standing in the corridor, still covered in leather, stood Angell, and she wasn't looking happy.

"He wants you. Oh god, Flack, he wants to fuck you!"

X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X

**A/N: Muse demanded a cliffhanger, you guys got a cliffhanger. Did you really think I'd be mean enough as to send poor Adam into the lion's den?**


	7. Testing resolve

**A/N: And in the end, it was all a matter of trust…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

Flack was shocked beyond words, so he did the only thing he could think of: he stood aside and let her in. By the time he had locked the door behind him, she had taken off the leather coat and was pacing up and down the living room, wringing her hands together, and he couldn't remember having seen her in such a state of distress before… and they had had their share of bad moments.

"I can't do this, Don. I'm calling Cap. I'm calling this whole thing off. Vice better find another way to do this. I… I simply can't go through with it…" she said before he had a chance to ask what had happened.

"So… what you said out there… I take it was a direct quote?"

Angell looked at him with a wry smile… and then burst out crying. Long, soul-shattering sobs that shook her whole body as her hands covered her face and she made an almost inhuman effort to get herself under control, and they frightened Flack, they frightened him real bad. In two strides he was by her side, holding her tight against him, just holding her, letting her ride it out.

He still remembered the first time he had had to wear a wire and bust a drug deal, back in his uniform days, and as soon as the perp was gone, he had found the nearest alley and thrown up. Moran had said it was a normal adrenaline kick reaction… and that's what he kept telling himself when, later that night, he had gotten absolutely wasted and had bawled his eyes out in a sheer terror he had not known before. That was the price you paid for working undercover, and you better get out before it got to you and you burned out. He just prayed Angell's scars would not be permanent.

When her trembling subsided, she gently pulled herself back and he let her go, regretfully, As wrong as it might be, it felt good holding her, and he wished he could do it again sometime soon and under better circumstances. He led her to the sofa and sat down next to her, close enough to lend her comfort, but not so that she felt uncomfortable.

"Tell me"

Tell him? How could she tell him what she'd been through the last four hours? The constant fear of having her cover blown paled in comparison to the things she had had to do in order to convince Nico she wasn't an undercover cop. And the man itself scared her: 6'4" and 210 solid pounds of pure sadistic evil. He had bowed before her in mockery, and then proceeded to do a detailed body search for wires while two of his guns kept their pieces trained to her head.

Satisfied that she wasn't wearing a wire, he began testing her. First, as he showed her around his "little house of pain" (his words, not hers), he kept careful chit chat about their past conversations, and Angell had been grateful for all the hours she had spent with Maya going over the recordings. She assumed Nico was pleased with her answers, for he soon invited her in to his dungeons.

And that's when the horror began.

Flack had patiently waited for her to start talking, but his patience, as well as his nerves, was growing thin. Her silence was worse than anything she could tell him, and all sorts of worst-case scenarios were dancing in his mind. Soon the uncertainty became too much to bear.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No"

"Jenn… please… did he hurt you in any way? Did he… did he touch you?"

Angell was deeply moved by the caring in his voice and the tactful way he tried to express his concerns. She raised her hand and tenderly cupped his cheek, a gentle gesture that seemed out of place after all the madness of the evening.

"Hurt me? No, Don… I was the one who did all the hurting…"

Flack smiled, thinking he had understood, and Angell hoped he wouldn't pursue the matter, 'cause she'd tell him about the hurting, but not about the touching. For Nico had touched her, and in such ways, that she was still surprised she had walked out of there un-raped. Maybe it had been because of what she had done, and Angell had the nagging suspicion that is she had faltered once, it would have been her at the receiving end. Now if she could convince herself that she had done it in order to survive and thus be able to put a stop to Nico's torturing days, then she might get to sleep without nightmares in a couple of years.

The smile turned into a frown when Flack noticed that her smile had not reached her eyes, that those eyes wore a haunted look he knew all too well, and that she was quiet, too quiet.

"Jenn?"

No response. She was pulled inside herself, fighting whatever inner demon was haunting her at the time.

"Angell?"

Silence. But her eyes spoke volumes, loud enough for Flack to wish he'll get a chance to pay Nico a visit after they had cuff him and make him wish he'd never even seen her in his life.

"Jezebel?"

Her head snapped up, a horrified look on her face.

"NO!" She shoved him away. "Don't! Don't you ever call me that again! I'm not HER!"

She tried getting up, but lost her balance due to the heels and her agitated state and landed on the floor next to the sofa. Flack made a move towards her, but she effectively stopped him by raising her arm with her hand extended upwards, imperatively. She pulled her knees towards her chest, allowing her hair to cover her face and Flack decided that if she didn't call it off, he would. He couldn't bear to see her broken up like this.

"Jezebel did some pretty mean shit tonight… pretty mean shit. She whipped and flocked and kicked and canned and tied and gagged and that was the tame stuff. She helped Nico "teach" about erotic asphyxiation and hooded a guy who passed out twice. She found out she's good at piercing people's bodies… problem is, Nico is all about pain, so anesthetics are not a part of the procedure…"

"Jenn, you were only…"

"No, don't tell me she was only doing her job! That ain't no fucking job, Flack! It's not the job when you have to brand a guy using a carving knife and then you get to lick both the knife and the wound. It's not a job when you get to learn how to torture people using electroshocks and leather restraints. Or when you have to sodomize and rape people with every kind of object you can think of, yourself included, until they pass out from the pain…"

Flack was at a loss for words. "Jenn…"

"Jezebel had to prove to Nico that not only she was a sexual mistress, but also a raging sadist and she passed the test with flying colors…"

She looked up from behind the curtain of dark hair. "I'm not her, am I?"

In a moment he was kneeling next to her, holding her close to his chest. "No, sweetheart, you are not…"

And even when he hadn't seen it, he felt it inside when the light in her eyes grew duller and the spark within her dimmed. It was as if being Jezebel was sucking her dry of life, and if that was the case, he'd find a way to get rid of her. He scooted down towards her feet, unzipping the boots as he went along, until he had removed them and tossed aside, where she wouldn't see them. He then undid the snaps at the high neck of the cat-suit she was wearing, and it immediately peeled off her, like dry rotten skin, and he wondered for a moment how she could breathe inside that thing.

"Come on, honey, up we go…" he said, as he reached for her hands and pulled her to her feet as he rose as well. Now that she was barefoot, he was surprised to see the real difference in their heights.

He led her into the bathroom and for a moment wondered just how far he'd have to go in order to get her moving and into the shower. Fortunately, the cold tiles under her floor were enough to make her snap out of it, although not totally, she did look up at him questioningly.

"Shower, nice cup of tea with milk and bed. In that order. No ifs, ands or buts about it. The towels on the rack are clean, help yourself to them…"

"I don't have any clean clothes with me…"

"I'll see what I can do…"

Flack reconsidered his apparently flawless plan. Having assumed she was driving the car, he knew she always kept an extra change of clothes in the trunk so what to wear after the shower had never been a consideration. So he rummaged his closet and drawers, trying to find something suitable for her to wear to bed. Of course, "naked" had been the first option to pop into his mind, and he had quickly pushed it away, but it found sneaky ways to creep back up front as he considered and discarded options.

His old Academy t-shirt was too ratty and full of holes, but he refused to part with it. The rest of his tees might not be long enough to allow for a modest coverage ("naked" jumped up and down again) and his shorts and sweatpants would certainly roll off her hips no matter how much she pulled and tightened the string. If only he had kept that hideous flannel pj that Aunt Selma had sent him for his last birthday!

And then it hit him. Foraging into the upper shelf in the closet, he soon found a cardboard box, still with ribbon attached to it. It was a silk pajama set, done in the palest of blues, with wrap-around top and baggy bottoms. He had gotten it for Devon on a whim, having stumbled into a tiny vintage store that had everything on sale as it was closing down, and he had thought it was the perfect gift, as it looked expensive and had not cost him half his pay-check. But things had gone sour between them before he had the chance to give them to her, and he was stuck with the garment now that the store, and the girl, were gone.

"Flack?"

Angell's voice calling him from the bathroom brought him back to reality and he hurried back, carrying the pajama but not the box. He silently handed them to her, and she gave him a small encouraging smile, giving him hope that she'd be all right. She was a strong woman, and a good cop, and she was a fighter as well. She was going to be okay.

When she came out of the bathroom, Flack felt his heart tug inside of him. She looked so young, so innocent and yet so jaded that his innate protective instinct went up in high gear.

"Wha… what are you doing?" he asked, as he saw her get her coat.

"It's late, and you need to rest, and I'd like to go home…"

Blue dared charcoal, and the darker shade withdrew after only a brief moment.

"Jenn, come on, stay the night. Tomorrow morning we'll go to Cap with your report and we'll figure out a war plan…"

"Thanks"

"Thanks? Just thanks? I can't believe you gave in so easily! It's not fair… it's not fun at all!"

Another weak smile. "Let me get my beauty sleep and I'll kick your ass in the morning, okay?"

He showered as she got ready to settle down for the night. He came back into the bedroom to check up on her and get an afghan and a pillow to sleep on the couch. He found her sitting on the side of the bed that was usually vacant, combing through her still damp hair, absently looking out of the window. She looked as if she belonged in there, and he wished he could stay there and not in the couch… he'd even promise to behave if he was allowed the chance to keep up the charade of domestic bliss seeing her sitting on his bed had brought to his mind.

"I checked my voice mail" she said, conversationally, "Nico wants to meet with us two nights from tonight. I called Capt and he ordered us not to show our faces at precinct tomorrow. He's gonna go chew some ass down in Vice to see if he can force them to change their mind about the whole thing… so… looks like we got ourselves a day off, compliments of Vice and Cap…"

From the way she said it, it sounded as simple as if she had asked for a set of towels to be returned to the store because she didn't like the color.

"Don…."

"Hmm?"

"Is it okay if I sleep in?"

"Sure, no problem… we could both use the rest."

"Well, in that case…"

"You need anything?"

"Hmmno…"

"Good night then, Jenn"

"Don?"

"Yes?"

"Could you stay here with me?"

"Sure"

He put the pillow and the afghan back in the linen's hamper and climbed in bed. She was laying on her side, facing the window, looking at the city lights that shone through the two buildings in front of his own.

"Are you a pillow hugger? Cover thief? Chronic snorer? Slobber much?"

"Don Flack, I had no idea I had to take a test before sharing the bed with you…"

"Hey, you never know. Just making sure. So..?"

"No… none of the above. And I don't talk in my sleep and I don't kick people off bed… asleep, that is."

He smiled at the innuendo but chose to let it pass. He turned off the light of his bedside table and settled on his side, facing her back.

"Cuddle?"

"Thought you'd never ask…"

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, Flack woke up. His nose was buried in her hair, his right hand possessively splayed over her stomach, his left one placed upon her right breast. And although it wasn't a bad way to wake up, and his whole body tended to agree with him, the timing wasn't quite right yet. Maybe someday, soon, he'll get the courage to actually ask her out on a date, but for the time being…

He disentangled himself from her sleeping form as gently as possible, and seized the opportunity to take a leak and check his voice mail. When he returned to bed, he found Angell on her back, still sleeping. The sash that kept her pajama coat closed had come undone, leaving her chest exposed. Early morning hormones hit full force…

… until he saw the scarring.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Cliffhanger! What kind of scarring did Flack saw on Angell's chest? Will Cap manage to send Vice packing? Is Jenn bound to be destroyed by Jezebel? And what's going to happen when Don and Nico come face to face?**


	8. Scarring confessions

**A/N: Some boundaries are being stretched whilst others are simply vanishing…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

Flack stared at the markings on her body for a long time. He'd been on the job and around CSIs long enough to know what to look for when investigating, and he'd have to treat this no different. There were faint bruises all over her collar bone, so faint it could only mean they were recent, and he felt his blood boil; someone had grabbed Jenn by the shoulders, hard, in the last couple of hours. All the possible scenarios for them were running haphazardly inside his head, driving him crazy with thoughts of revenge and jealousy: Nico had, undoubtedly, hurt her, gripping her shoulders tightly, perhaps shaken her… or perhaps pushing her down to her knees…

He analyzed the scars on her breasts next. These were older; judging by the way the skin had healed, they were older than his own, but definitively not a childhood trauma. There was a fine, razor thin reddish mark connecting one breast to the other, but no telltale marks of sutures, so that one had healed without stitches. Most of the voluptuous area of the breast was unscathed, meaning she could get away with showing some cleavage without actually showing too much. The nipple area, however…"slashed" came to mind, and Flack shuddered thinking what kind of accident could have taken place to leave such damage and wondered why she had not undergone reconstructive surgery.

There was something about the scars that bothered him… something that made him think he'd seen them before, somewhere. And he was sure he'd remember seeing Jenn nude before today…

His musings were interrupted by the faint change in her breathing pattern. She was awake, and probably aware of the fact that he was openly staring at her naked chest, and he knew he had but seconds to make his next move and try to avoid uncomfortable explanations.

He gently placed his hand on her belly.

"Jenn..?"

Bad choice. As soon as he touched her she bolted out of the bed and was standing as far away from him as possible, her back to him, shoulders heaving, her top sliding down her left arm, barely noticed.

It was then that he saw the marking on her shoulder blade. From the distance, it looked like a tattoo of a smiley, except it had been done in dark red instead of black ink.

And then it hit him.

Where he'd seen it before. Four times, four corpses. One survivor.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the enormity of what he'd just learned was too overwhelming.

"Jergens…" his voice was merely a hoarse whisper.

She pulled the jacket back in place, wrapping it tightly around her and kept staring out of the window.

"Now you know why I hate Vice…"

Six years before a serial rapist/killer had given Vice one helluva nightmare. Joe Jergens picked his victims off the street, branded them with a smiley face, raped them and then proceeded to remove their nipples and vaginas with a scalpel before slicing their throats. After a month of fruitless investigation, they had sent a newbie cop as a decoy. All the girl was supposed to do was stall him until backup came to arrest him. But something had gone horribly wrong, and by the time they had reached her, it had been too late. Jergens was arrested "in flagrante delicto" and the female officer rushed to the hospital where she underwent a couple of surgeries and stayed for almost a month. What happened to her after that had been some sort of a mystery, but everyone assumed (Flack among them) that she had simply quit the Force, and that had been that.

Except that she was now standing in his bedroom.

Too many questions, but some would have to be left for later.

"Does Cap know…?"

She shook her head. "No. The Jergens case was expunged from my file. I didn't want to keep it on my back forever…"

"Why the fuck did you take the case then?"

"Nico likes his girls scarred on the side…"

"Wait a second… how did Vice know about…?"

"Not Vice. Just Silva."

"Silva?" Jealousy crept in and made his voice one octave higher.

"He was there that night… he rode with me on the bus to the hospital. When Maya told him about Nico's fetish he called me and asked me if I'd take the case before bringing my name up to Agnetti…"

Emotions erupted inside of him. In three strides he was by her side, holding her by her upper arms, forcing her to face him. He could barely restrain himself from shaking her and making his point across.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?? What the hell are you trying to prove, Jennifer?? You barely escaped Jergens alive and now you willingly go face an even worse psychopath?? Dammit, Angell, you got a death wish or something? Survivor's guilt? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She merely stared at him while he yelled at her out of frustration.

"If you had to go into a building to save someone, would you do it even if you knew there was a bomb waiting to go off any minute?"

Shit. She had him there. He knew the answer to that one and she knew it as well. They were who they were and there was nothing left to say about it. His anger diffused almost as quickly as it had exploded.

"Did he go for it?"

"Huh?"

"Nico. Did he enjoy the show?"

"I don't know…"

"What you mean you don't know?"

"I wasn't exactly looking at his face to gauge his reaction…" Having a barrel poking the back of your head had a way of making you obey when they tell you to keep your eyes closed… but she wasn't about to share that kind of information with him.

"Aww come on, Jenn… you women seem to know every time we've been had…"

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm not exactly at the top of my game right now…"

He opened his mouth to come up with a witty comment but thought better about it. This whole thing with Nico had left her quite shaken… and the whole scarring thing… his personal experience told him that it was hard to trust someone with the knowledge… he himself had chosen to either leave the wife beater on or the lights out. The only time he had felt comfortable enough to show his torso naked, his companion had not felt the same, and he had quickly gotten dressed and walked out of her place.

He took a step back. "Show me"

She looked at him, puzzled. It wasn't a request. It was an order. But he had just seen her naked, why on earth would he want to see her again?

"Why?"

"If we're gonna get Nico, we need to start seeing things the way he does. I wanna know what he thought when he saw you…"

Too tired and confused to argue, Angell undid the sash of the coat and let it slid open, keeping her hands by her sides and her eyes downcast. If Flack noticed the attitude, he extended her the courtesy of not mentioning it.

He got himself immersed in her instead. He had already analyzed her from the objective and impassionate point of view of a cop. Now, however, it was the man who was looking at her… and the man wanted to do so much more than simply look. So he did. He cupped each breast in each one of his hands, and took a moment to enjoy their shape and weight… perfect. That's the only word that came to mind. And such perfection had nothing to do with the media standard, but rather with the way they felt in his hands. Perfect.

Soon holding wasn't enough, either. His thumbs started to gently move in circles, first around her nipples, then directly on them. Softly, then harder, trying to find the right amount of pressure to make her feel good, for he was certain that underneath all the damage there was still sensitivity and he was desperate to reach it, to liberate it. And he must have been doing something right, for now she was clutching her fists at her sides and biting down on her lower lip and her breathing pattern had changed…

And soon touching wasn't enough, either. He needed to taste, and his need took precedent over everything else. He went as far as moving in closer, deciding between lowering his head or simply kneeling down when reality hit him. He couldn't taste. Not then, not there, perhaps not ever. With a sigh of desperation and a sound of profound disgust, he spun around, his back to her, his hands running through his hair in despair, his breathing loud. It took him a moment to realize how his actions might be interpreted, but it was a moment too late. By the time he turned back to her, she was looking out of the window again, her arms firmly wrapped around her, as if trying to protect herself…

"Jenn…"

"Shhhh… it's okay. I understand."

"No, Jenn, you don't…"

"Don't worry Don. I know how you feel..."

He gently turned her to face him. "I'm sure you have no idea of what I'm feeling right now…"

"It's okay, Don. Really. Even I have a hard time dealing with… them."

Uncertain as to how to proceed, he simply removed the t-shirt he was wearing, and stood silently in front of her. She looked at his scars, which she hadn't seen in a while, not since they had healed. The first thing that came to her mind was that it was worse than she remembered… poor Flack had keloid scarring, and his whole left side looked like a series of reddish welts, lumps and ridges running from just below his nipple to his hips. He took her hand and placed it on top of it. She took the permission given and gently moved her fingers over the whole area, following contours, highs and lows, forming haphazard shapes over his skin.

He shivered and she quickly withdrew her hand.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No… it's just… I had forgotten how good it felt to be touched there…"

"Your fans don't give their hero the amount of loving he needs?"

"Fans are less than you think and not all of them interested in actually seeing what made me a "hero"…"

"Sorry. I know what you mean…"

"You do?"

"I think I've shown my scars more in the last three hours than what I've done in the last three years…"

"Really?" Eyebrows moving upwards in surprise.

"They're not exactly fantasy material. Nice lingerie makes up for it somehow… at least gives me a legit excuse for not wanting to bare it all…"

His hands went back to cupping her breasts.

"Don... you don't have to…"

"I want to…"

This time around he didn't deny himself. Dropping to one knee, he allowed his tongue to move in circles around the scars, then traced them back and forth and when he couldn't restrain himself any longer, he took it in his mouth and sucked gently on it. She sighed, then moaned and then had to hold on to the wall at her back when her knees started to grow weak. How long had it been since she had last felt like this?

And just as suddenly as it had started, it ended.

"I'm sorry Jen… I'm sorry…" Words mumbled against her stomach, as he buried his head there.

"It's okay, Don, at least you tried…" Words sounding fake to her own ears, as it wasn't okay but it wasn't his fault.

"Jenn… it's not what you think… it's just…"

"I know how you feel…"

"You do?"

"Yes…"

"No. You don't. You have no clue as to how I feel."

"But Don, I…"

Words cut short by him standing up, grabbing her hand and placing it once more over his body, but this time over the unmistakable bulge of his erection. She looked down, as if needing visual confirmation of what her hand was feeling, then looking up searching his face for some rational explanation.

"THAT is what you're making me feel. I stopped, not because I didn't want it, but because I want more, much more. God Jenn, if I could… I'd be making love to you right now instead of just telling you how bad I want to do it!"

Foreheads together, labored breathing, bodies aching to touch and be touched.

"Why can't you?" she softly whispered, her fingers once more playing with the folds of his marred skin.

Their eyes met… and the rest of the world ceased to exist.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Impromptu confessions leading to… chapter 9, soon, I hope!**


	9. Cap's Questions

**A/N: The clock keeps ticking… and time is running out.**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

They made it as far as the bed.

Later on, much, much later on, that's what he remembered. They stumbled there, him carrying her, her legs wrapped around his hips, and how he relished the feel of skin on naked skin, and he was surprised how much he missed feeling a woman's naked chest on his naked torso, and he prayed he had enough self-composure to last longer than a sixteen year old, which he was seriously doubting, not with the way his body was reacting to the feeling of his hands splayed all over her satin covered ass, or how his mouth seemed to have found permanent residence in the crook of her neck, or the way her hands were anchored on his shoulder blades or the kind of wicked, deliciously wicked things she kept breathing in his ear…

They had yet to kiss, but he was saving that for last, until they were in bed, until he could take his time leisurely exploring her mouth, marking her as his, selfishly wanting to erase every vestige of any other man in her life. And then he'd kiss away the damage done by Nico, and then…

As if invoking it by merely thinking about it, duty called just then and there. Just as they had reached the end of his bed, just as he was considering how to lay them down and how to make her his and surrender to her, his phone rang. Or maybe it was hers which rang first. In any case, both devices demanded their attention, and after a half-sighed moment of apology, they disentangled and morphed back into homicide detectives in the midst of a dangerous and delicate undercover operation.

As he spoke with Cap, he glanced at her, deep in discussion with whoever it was on her end. He could catch glimpses of naked skin here and there, and desire still coursed deep in his veins, but he was surprised at how easy it had been. Of course it had been frustrating as hell; the ongoing joke about blue balls to match a cop's uniform had a profound basis on reality. But for the first time since his work life had interrupted his sex life, there hadn't been any of the uncomfortable, silent reproaches, none of the pouts and exaggerated sighs, no "do you really have to answer it" pleas. For the first time since he could remember (and the only time he had NOT answered his phone he had been mid orgasm) it had been done in a natural way, no explanations necessary, none demanded, none given. Frustrating as hell, yes; harder than it already was, no.

By the time he was done talking, she was coming out of the bathroom, Jezebel's costume back in place, the delicate garment of moments prior carefully folded in her arms.

"Here" she said, extending it towards him.

"Keep it"

"You sure its owner won't mind?"

"It's yours"

"Oh… thanks. Why was Cap so upset?"

It still surprised him how easily she could go from Jenn to Angell and back.

"Seems he got the report form Vice and wants to go over it with me, ASAP. There's something about it with which he's not happy about, and he seems to think I have something to do with it…"

"Now what on Earth would have given him THAT idea…"

"Watch it Jeze…Jennifer…" he inwardly cursed himself for momentarily forgetting.

"It's okay, Don. It IS my given name, after all. Too bad my mom was such a diehard Bette Davis fan, huh? One thing is certain, though…"

"What is it?"

"If I'm ever crazy enough to work with vice again, I won't allow them to choose my undercover name again…"

Don wondered if they had given her a name during the Jergens case, and decided he never wanted to find out.

"So who was that on your side?" he asked, trying to change topics.

"Hmm? Ah, Rick…" Distractedly fixing her make-up

"Rick?" Raising eyebrow and tone.

She softly cursed under her breath. "Silva? From Vice? He just got the transcript from my interview with Nico and wants to discuss some things…"

Don hated himself for it, but he had to know.

"Jenn… if Cap hadn't called…"

"Silva could have shoved his briefing wherever he felt like it, cause I had better things to do with my life at this time of the night than meeting with him over this fucking case…"

He smiled and she smiled back and she sat on his couch to put the boots back on. For a moment he wondered if he ought to have kissed her right then and there, but by the time she stood up the "moment" between them had passed. The hard core that protected her was back in place and he decided not to risk physical injury by approaching in anything but a professional manner.

They parted at his front door without a single word, without a single glance back, allowing the night to swallow them whole.

X xxx X

To say Cap was upset would be akin to saying that the Chrysler Building was just another skyscraper in the city. He had just received official confirmation as to Angell's participation in the Jergens case and he wanted to know if a) Flack knew, b) Flack was planning on informing him any time soon, and c) what the fuck was Flack going to do about it.

For a moment, Flack pondered his options. He could flat out lie to Cap, but hell would be a nice place to live in if Cap found him out. He could tell him a half truth, but which parts should he leave out? He could always go for the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but then Angell would have his hide, not to mention his balls. In the end, he went for the edited version of the truth, leaving out her break down, the how he found out, and what had happened next.

Cap was still mad as hell for Vice playing him like that. If it had been up to him, Angell would never had gone to see Nico on her own, now would she have risked her physical integrity. He was regretting having fallen for the "victims need you" line Vice had fed him; there was a reason he worked Homicide, and part of it was that his victims usually came in wheeled feet first. And now, not one, but two of his men, were risking serious physical and emotional damage. The Flack/Angell team had a good closing record, and a good part of it was the comfortable banter they shared. And that delicate balance was about to be put through the grinder, and all because the idiotic nephew of a moronic asshole in office was presumably in danger.

He had been called over from Queens to cover for Gerard, and he was no pansy when it came to danger… but he was not one to put his people in unnecessary danger, either. He didn't care much for Manhattan politics; the only labels inside his suits were the ones sewn in by his tailor and he was almost sure the young man sitting in front of him spent more on a pair of shoes that he did on half his wardrobe. To each his own, he guessed, but he still wasn't comfortable playing games with his guys' security. He was considering pulling the plug and calling the whole thing off, Vice and Sinclair be dammed…

Until Flack told him what Angell had seen inside that madman's place.

Cap knew Angell had _cojones_, but he had no idea they were so big. Not that he was surprised; she was an Angell after all. He had no complaints about Junior, either. He'd worked with both their fathers, and he knew the apples had not fallen far from the trees.

It was that he just didn't trust damn Vice. Agnetti seemed too soft and mild-mannered to be running such a tough division and that Silva… an _hijo de puta_ if he had ever seen one. Sneaky bastard who'd sell his own mother to get ahead in the job, and probably had done so already. Maybe Cap was being too harsh on his judgment, but the fact that it had been _precisely_ the Jergens case that had given Silva his break was making him nervous; Cap wasn't a man to believe in coincidences. Not when the office gossip mill had Agnetti retiring any minute now and Silva openly vying for his position.

Like Flack, Cap now had to make a decision on how much to tell and what cards to keep closer to him. In the end, he just told the young detective to keep an eye on Silva, but didn't tell him why. He had more pressing things in his mind that an asshole with political ambitions.

"Flack?"

"Yes, Cap?"

"You ARE aware that this Nico guy will not hesitate to off you both if he doesn't buy it, aren't you?"

"Yes sir"

Silence as the older man pondered how to pose the question he needed to ask.

"How good are you, Don? I mean, are you good enough to fool the bastard?"

Fidgety stalling. "She's been doing a great work, Sir..."

"Oh, she's good. I've seen the tapes, Flack. She's frighteningly good. It's you I'm worried about…"

"Me?" Feather ruffled instantly.

"Forgive me for saying this, Don, but you don't look gay enough…"

"So I've been told…"

"I don't know, Don. I mean… I can see why this psycho picked you, but it was something done based solely on looks alone. The moment he sees you he's gonna realize he's got a very good looking STRAIGHT guy to play with, and I'm not sure how well THAT is gonna sit with him…"

Flack wondered how much he could trust his new Captain.

"I've been worrying about the same thing myself, Sir…"

"The way I see it, Flack, your best shot is if the two of you give a convincing show together. Have you practiced your roles as mistress and slave together?"

"Uh… actually… we hadn't had a chance so far…"

"Are you fucking kidding me??"

Flack felt like vanishing into thin air. He hadn't thought about practicing together before meeting with Nico, but, then again, he had more pressing things on his mind. Of course, he couldn't share this information with Cap, so he'd have to take the reaming as stoically as possible.

Cap was hard, but fair. In his defense, Flack had only known he was the chosen one for about 5 hours now. That gave them 24 more to prepare before the meeting with Nico. Cap wanted to see them interact at least once before they left for the rendezvous, and he warned Flack that if he wasn't convinced, he was going to call the whole thing off.

"Will there be anything else, Sir?"

Hesitation. "Have you ever been to "The Oyster's Cult" in Harlem?"

Blank stare answered. Cap sighed, opened one of his desks drawers, and after some moving around, came out with a card, which he slid across towards Flack.

"If there's a place for you kids to polish your game, this is it. Call Angell and tell her to meet you there ASAP. Go downstairs to the evidence locker room and get some of the stuff Vice bought and change into… what idiotic name did Vice give you?"

"Uh… Donnie…"

Disgusted snort. "Brilliant. Go change into Donnie and meet Angell at the Oyster's. Do you have any gay friends you could trust?"

Flack's mind flew back to Bryan March and nodded.

"Good. Call him. Her. Whatever. Ask them to meet you there as well. Tell them the whole story. Beg for their help if necessary. But have them watch everything you two do and correct every single flaw you have. Tell them to be merciless. Make out with them if you can stomach it and your friendship can stand it. Do what it takes, I don't want to know. But I want you out of that place alive, you hear me?"

"Yes, Sir"

Another moment of silence. Flack inwardly braced himself. He was slowly getting used to the brutal honesty of his new superior officer, and although he appreciated it most of the times, it was still unsettling.

"Flack… what you're doing… it ain't easy. And I'm not talking as a cop here. Guys will be guys and there will be talk… even if you made Captain and earned a bazillion medals, locker room talk WILL be there. It's a _macho_ thing I guess. Even if nothing happens, people will assume the worst, given the nature of this case. Are you… prepared for that?"

Don thought for a moment before answering.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone calls me "fag" sir..."

"What did you do the first time around?"

"Told them I'd tell Messer they'd sent their love…"

Cap laughed out loud. He had heard the rumors. And he had caught Messer and Monroe making out in the parking lot. And he'd heard of the socialite and the James Bond case in more than one precinct, too.

Soon he sobered. There was something else that worried him and needed to be addressed before Flack could be dismissed and he could go back to Queens to his family.

"Have you and Jennifer talked about the case? As friends, not as cops…"

"Uh… well Sir… talk, talk, really talk… not really…"

Sigh.

"You need to talk. You know that, don't you? You're going to be crossing all sorts of lines in this case, and I'm not sure you'll ever be able to go back to what it is right now. It might cost you your friendship… have you considered that? On the other hand, you two are going to get all sorts of intimate, and I don't think I need to tell you that she's one hot looking lady, do I? That would be hard to control under normal circumstances… and in this case she's gonna be whipping your ass for the sheer pleasure of doing it… and she might find out she likes it. Even worse, YOU might find out you like it. Do you think you can go back after that?"

Fuck. Cap sure knew how to ask the tough questions he had been putting aside for later but never coming back to them. Maybe it had been for the best they had been interrupted earlier…?

"You don't need to tell me, Don. It ain't none of my business. But you need to tell her. You both need to know the other one will be there at the end of the tunnel. Now let's get out of here. You got places to go and my Graciela is going to kick my ass all the way into Jersey if I don't get home at a decent hour…"

They walked to the elevators, making small talk about the weather and the Giants and the Yankees. When the elevator stopped at the evidence floor, Cap stopped the doors from closing after Flack had gotten out.

"Think about what I said Flack, and do what you need to do. I'll have both your backs even if Vice doesn't. And talk to Angell. I mean it."

"Thank you, Sir, I will."

"Did you know that Graciela and I were beat partners? We fought all the time about whose turn it was to drive the patrol until the day I asked her to marry me…"

And with that, Cap let the doors slid close.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Not the kind of chapter we were expecting, huh? But I like the way Cap addresses some issues that had been left loose…**


	10. Straight love?

**A/N: Muse took a vacation and was kind enough to take me with her this time around…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

She closed the door behind her and for a moment, for the briefest of moments, considered screaming her head off.

The thought was discarded along with the boots and the overcoat, all of them impractical. The sentiment, however, remained, and she wondered how she'd get rid of the frustration and the restlessness that surrounded her, threatening to engulf her completely. She ended up grabbing one of the frilly throw pillows from the sofa (really, what had her mother been thinking) and screaming into it. The muffled sound gave no relief, but at least she had fed the urge. And that would have to make do for the time being.

She looked at her watch and realized she had little over forty five minutes to get ready and meet Flack and his mysterious companions. Since she had washed her hair earlier that evening at his place, it only needed a quick shower; she had time to spare. Then she remembered that her stupid water heater had seemingly forgotten what the word "automatic" meant, and what its mission in life was. Sighing, she turned the darn thing on, set the timer for 15 minutes, praying water would at least lose its chill before she got into the shower.

Opening a kitchen drawer, she took out an old cigarette pack that seemed to have been around since forever. At the moment, she didn't care how long it had been there, or who had forgotten it in the first place; she was simply grateful to have something to occupy herself in while waiting for her shower. She didn't trust her thoughts at the moment. Lighting up, she stood near the window and watch the shadows dancing outside.

Soon the game of light and darkness playing hide and seek wasn't enough to derail the cacophony of ideas threatening to spill from within, and she gave in. No use in fighting back; sooner or later she'd have to face it all.

But where to start? Nico and his house of pain were not the best of choices, not if she wanted to keep her sanity intact for the remainder of the night. Rick Silva? She shuddered in disgust. The man was playing her, that much she was certain, trading her peace of mind for a corner office and a bigger badge. There had been a time, somewhere where the past became a forgotten notion, that they had shared a true feeling. But that was before the whole Jergens mess exploded in their faces.

It had been so simple, really. He was already working his way into Vice, still a uniform, yes, but he knew what he wanted and he knew what he'd need to do to get it. She was barely out of the Academy, her own uniform so new it still felt stiff around the shoulders. Having just moved out of her parents place, away from the shadow of her brothers, she felt 

daring and able to eat the whole world in just three bites… and free to do so with whomever she pleased, her dates no longer having to suffer the scrutiny of the Angell clan. And the fact that this dashing young man seemed not to give a damn about her family background… she was smitten, he swept her off her feet, and they lived in a world of wine and laughter and poetry and sex. Then Rick had become obsessed with cracking the Jergens case, sure it was IT, the break he needed to make it into Vice as a detective and not a simple officer, and she vowed to help him in any way she could. Any way.

His way had nearly cost Jenn her life. Their relationship and her self-esteem had not been so lucky.

Silva stayed with her, more out of guilt than love, but they had drifted apart soon after she left the hospital. They had stayed friends, sort of… rather, and in all honesty, they had become a comfortable booty call. She was convenient in between his relationships and he… the fact that he was the only man she had trusted to see her naked before today kind of made up for the lack in everything else. Booty call, nothing else.

Which was exactly what he had had in mind when he called her under the ruse of going over her recording from the interview. She should had known better, but she was too distracted to notice the slight changes in his manners that lead him to think she'd willingly go to bed with him. It wasn't until he suggested she left the boots on that she realized what it was all about. To say Silva had paid dearly for all her frustrations with the case would have been an understatement, and he wasn't a happy camper. He tried the low blow route, reminding her no other man would want her, and for the first time Angell wondered how much of his bullshit she'd believed in before…

And that line of thought brought her straight to Flack, and she shuddered at the memory of his hands and his lips and his eyes. Those eyes of him were going to be the death of her, and quite frankly she couldn't care less. His words still rang in her ears, words of devotion, of passion and need, and she was painfully aware of how much she wanted him as well…

She'd met Don Flack, Jr. (don't ever forget the Jr. part) upon her return to work. She had requested to be reinstated as officer in Homicide and in all honesty the brass had been in no position to deny her anything at that point of her life. He noticed the young detective, so new to the job that he still dressed casually in slacks and leather jackets, the very first day she had reported to duty. Not that it was hard to notice him, not with that hair and those eyes and the endless entourage of females that seemed to circle around his desk whenever he was around. She didn't doubt he knew that back then his desk had been nicknamed "the revolving door". His antics were cooler gossip material; his and Messer's, and she had kept her polite distance.

More and more often, however, she got to work under his command, and they soon became regular small-talkers, the weather and the Yankees and the Rangers common topics of conversation during those quiet moments together before busting a suspect or waiting for the CSI's go signal.

The turning point had been a punk, high as a kite, who had stabbed three people and was giving them a hard time at the station as they booked him. The idiot thought that a female hostage was his ticket out, and made a lounge for Angell before Flack or any other agent could do anything about it. Half a minute later, the perp laid on the floor, broken nose and cracked ribs and still wondering what the hell had just happened. Flack had asked the same, and she had just shrugged it off saying her brothers had taught her how to make her way around a street fight, and that had been that.

Or so she thought. Flack had been duly impressed and began to regard her as something more than just a subordinate. He had noticed her sharp observation skills and the way she handled herself during every case, and when the time had come, he put in a word for her. A couple of months later, she had gotten her promotion to detective. The promotion meant they didn't get to work together as often as they used to, but their friendship became stronger every passing day and soon she knew all there was to know about Donald Flack, Jr.

She knew things the higher-ups were unaware of, like the fact that there had been a time when he had taken too much of a liking to bourbon bottles in the middle of the night. She knew things his parents blissfully ignored; like the fact that he had done drugs during his last year of high school or that he had helped paid for the neighbor's abortion, unsure if he was the father, or if his best friend was. She knew things Messer would hopefully never find out, like the fact he had actually fucked Monroe in the evidence room while they both had been pissed at Danny and under the influence of huge amounts of alcohol…

Her thoughts were disturbed by the ringing from the kitchen counter, where the cow-shaped timer danced merrily about, announcing that her time was up. Thankfully, her time to get going was also running out, meaning she'd have to put all thoughts of Flack and his damn eyes away for the time being… and that included wondering why the hell were they meeting at some obscure bar at three in the morning.

Halfway across town, Don Flack Jr. was wondering exactly the same thing, as he cursed for the umpteenth time the instrument of torture he held in his left hand. How the fuck did women manage..? Frustrated, he flung it out of the door and held to the bathroom sink, fuming.

A few moments later, Stella came into the bathroom, holding an eyeliner in her hand.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe this is yours…"

He growled in frustration and embarrassment, fighting the urge to snatch the offending pencil from her hand and pretend nothing had happened. But that would be hard to do, given that he was already decked in leather pants and a black sleeveless shirt so tight it bothered his scar and made his chest hair feel uncomfortably sticky. Stella was bound to notice, in fact, she was pretty much checking out his wardrobe as she waited for his response, a smirk in her face.

"I got the winning ticket in the Vice lotto" he simply said and all traces of merriment left Stella's face.

"What do you need?"

"Frankly? Another two or three years of practice. But since I can't have that, I'll settle for second best. How on earth do you apply this??"

Stella smiled once more.

"Sit down. I'll do it for you just this once and you better pay attention cause I ain't planning on becoming your personal make-up girl…"

Obediently, he sat down on the closed toilet and aha-ed and hmmh-ed quietly, trying to move as little as possible. As much as he trusted Stella, there was a pointy object nearly touching his eye and he wasn't keen on going blind any time soon. By the time she was done with the make-up and the explanation, Flack was sure he'd never do it on his own and his admiration for all the women, and men, out there who did this daily grew a notch or two.

Stella had taken a step back to admire her handiwork and had kept on staring at him, wondering if he had any idea just how handsome he looked right then and there. Don Flack was a manly man, but the eyeliner… a touch of gloss on his lips and he'd be the hottest boy toy she'd ever laid eyes on. Had the circumstances been different, had this happened before Frankie or before his feelings for Angell had deepened… Stella was certain she'd have jumped his bones right then and there.

"Is anything wrong?" he asked, worried at her lack of response.

"No. Nothing's wrong. You just need a touch of gloss, that's all…"

Flack closed his eyes and wondered what on earth that gloss thing was…

X xxx X

Robert Radford-March was having serious second thoughts about the whole thing as he sipped on his drink. He'd heard enough about this Don Flack to know Bryan had been head over heels, completely smitten with him. Granted, that had been ten years ago, and now Bryan was married to him and yet… it didn't help much that this Flack character looked like a GQ model. The bastard had the audacity to still have a whole head of hair! 

Robert touched the balding spot on the back of his head and poked his somewhat soft belly; he had been out of active duty for many years now, happy to work as a union representative inside the Force. The pay was good, the hours were regular and he had met Brian when he had to defend him when his upper ups decided to fire him on false grounds just to hide the fact that they were firing him for being gay and open about it.

His musings were cut short, however, when the man he had been having second thoughts about materialized next to the table he and Brian were sitting at. He wasn't alone, and Robert felt a guilty pang of joy when he saw the stunning brunette standing next to Flack. And was he wearing makeup?

"Wow… baby, the gay have left the building..."

"Very funny Bry, very funny. Jenn, this is Bryan March and his husband, Robert"

As they exchanged pleasantries, Robert had to admit that he couldn't hold a grudge against the younger detective. In one simple gesture, he had acknowledged their relationship and paid his respects to the bond that joined him and Bryan. A fine man he was, just as Bryan had told him he was. But Bryan had told them they were there to help by observing the other couple interact, and watching he was. And the sexual tension between those two could be cut with a knife. In any other circumstances, he'd be secretly giddy with joy, God bless his matchmaking soul, but for the time being, the fact that they harbored feelings for each other was dangerous.

Deadly dangerous.

Bryan March was aware of it as well, the discreet hand squeeze from Robert unnecessary. But he knew Flack well enough to know he could talk until his face was blue, and the stubborn son of a bitch would deny it forever. With Flack, you had to demonstrate or you lost the argument before you had said the first word. So demonstrate he would, in due time. Bryan had been asking around, and this Nico guy was one bad motherfucker, the kind of bad motherfucker you don't get to mess with and live to tell the tale. And Bryan wanted Flack around for another decade or two, if only to bugger him with memories of his gay days.

"So… you guys dating or something?"

The expression on their faces, albeit brief, was good enough answer for him. Not dating, certainly not fucking, yet, but dying to do so. But there was something deeper in there, and Bryan wondered if Flack had fallen in love with his partner. As for this Angell gal… she wasn't a smitten teen with starry eyes, that was for sure, but she bear the unmistakable look of a woman on the verge of something… something that might be bigger than herself. And it scared her.

Well, that and the fact than in less than 24 hours she'd have to hand in the man she loved to a sadistic psycho and pretend to be ecstatic about it.

"What's the plan?" Robert asked, trying to bring the attention back to more pressing matters. "How do you want to play this?"

Flack quickly outlined their game plan: they had met at Ollie's to test his "gay factor" and then they'd move to "The Oyster's Cult", an underground sado bar, to give their mistress-slave act a trial run. Bryan and Robert nodded in understanding; their job was to be brutal judges, and they were set on helping the other two detectives out inasmuch as they could.

"Okay, Donnie, so here's your first test…"

And before Flack had a chance to ask what Bryan had in mind, the other man quickly pulled Jenn into his lap and kissed her, hard. She gave out a surprised yelp, but quickly recovered and played along. When Bryan released her, Flack exploded.

"What the fuck was that all about, March? You're supposed to be testing me, not trying out your straight fantasies!"

"I was testing you, and you failed miserably" Green eyes flashed, coldly.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Confusion mixed with anger.

"Do you honestly think this Nico guy is going to keep his paws off her? If Robert and I can see how smoking hot she is, do you think he's not going to take notice and want a piece of her ass? If you ask me, he's already helped himself to a taste or two…"

Jenn flushed, letting them all know that Bryan had hit the nail right on the head. Flack decided he'd question her about it later, when it was just the two of them, for he was certain she had not told him everything about her first meeting with Nico. Right now, he was adamant in knowing how he'd failed the so-called test.

Robert broke in. "What Bryan wants you to realize is that, while you're playing your role, you can't react to what happens to her…"

"So if the bastard feels like raping her I just have to stand there and watch? Is that what you mean?"

"Would you please get in that stubborn straight head of yours that you simply can't show that you care for her? She's your mistress and you're gay, dammit!"

Bryan's hand banging on the table was loud enough to garner the attention of the nearby patrons, and he made an effort to bring his voice down.

"Don… I want to have you both over for dinner sometime in the near future. I want to see her make an honest man out of you. Heck, we'd love to be your firstborn's godparents if you ask us… but that will never happen if you die at the hands of a miserable piece of shit just because you can't hide you're so fuckingly straightly in love with her!"

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Wonder how Flack plans to answer that last one…**


	11. Don't fear the reaper

**A/N: We're being pulled in every other direction… we'll we manage to hold?**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

The drive from "Ollie's" to "The Oyster's Cult" was done in taught silence, memories of what had happened being analyzed and over analyzed ad infinitum; some images wanting to be vanquished forever, others longing to remain engraved permanently.

Angell wondered if she should try to make light of the mood Flack seemed to be in, but she simply couldn't find the words that would make him crack the tiniest of smiles. Pissed-off Flack was difficult to deal with, albeit survivable; full-blown raving-mad Flack, however… she didn't want to go there. And she knew he must be at the very least upset with her, as he'd never particularly cared for her saving HIS day.

But she just couldn't stand watching him agonize under Bryan's scrutiny, private truths being hurled unceremoniously into front stage for everyone to stare at. Besides, she hadn't wanted to hear what he had to say. If he was going to admit that yes, he was in love with her, she'd much rather hear it from him in a more romantic setting; and if he wasn't, well… there wasn't a written law anywhere that said that he had to say that in public, either.

So she did what she could to diffuse the situation, taking charge, making light of it, asking Bryan to give them both a second chance. And if to prove Flack could do gay like the best of them, she simply straddled him and slid down the zipper from her tight leather vest, giving him a full view of her breasts. Flack, smart cop that he was, played along, not even glancing down. He simply zipped her back up, patting her in the head, as if she were a misbehaving bra

"Nice try, girlfriend. Now go show them to someone who'd actually wanna play with them and get off of me, you're blocking the view!"

Bryan started coughing, nearly choking on his drink, and Robert had patted him on the head, all the while flashing the other two officers a bright smile. The pitch, the intonation, the words… simply perfect. Too bad no one had paid attention!

Robert's assumption, however, had been wrong. Patrons had paid attention, close attention, and soon enough Angell was dirty-dancing with an ebony goddess and Flack was shamelessly flirting with a blond blue-eyed guy built like a corner back, who was quick to suggest moving to the bar's area to enjoy a drink. Flack agreed with enthusiasm, perhaps too much enthusiasm, and Bryan had to actually pull him back to explain that "going to the bar area" was gay-speak for "let's make out in a corner".

Too bad it had been too late to backtrack, Flack thought, flinching, as he maneuvered in the early morning traffic of the city that never really slept, at least, not entirely. He had been looking at Angell from the corner of his eye, trying to get a read on her feelings and thoughts, but he was getting zip from her. Her shields were up, her cards heavily guarded against her chest, and he wondered where he stood with her now. And for the second time in the last twenty-four hours, he found himself regretfully considering that perhaps it had indeed been for the best that what had transpired between them back in his bedroom had not gone further. It was going to hurt like hell if she could never again look at him straight in the face after what she'd seen him done tonight… but he was certain he'd never manage if he had already kissed her.

Just then he heard her murmur something.

"What was that?" Neutral tone.

"Huh?"

"Did you say anything?"

"Me? No… no, I haven't spoken"

She turned back to looking out of the window and he went back to paying attention to his driving. He was almost certain he had heard her voice, but maybe it was wishful thinking, wanting to know if things were cool between them, if they would hold even when everything around them crumbled.

He needed to know that she understood, that she knew what was going on. He wanted to be sure she could see beyond the fact that, while she was dancing with another woman, he was making out with some guy, kissing some guy, giving some guy a hand job… and not enjoying it one bit. He was worried things were going to end badly; Nick (or was it Mick? He couldn't remember) had already asked twice if there was something wrong…

And then he had looked up over the other man's shoulder and he'd seen her… looking straight at him, her eyes fixed on him, and watched as the other woman had her hands all over Jenn's body, straddling her leg and non-discreetly humping her. And all the time, even as she ran her tongue up and down the woman's neck, Jenn had been looking at him. And he had moaned in wanton, his body finally reacting to the assault of physical sensations from within inches of him, and the emotional torture taking place several yards away.

Then he heard her murmur something… again.

This time around he was positive he'd heard her voice. Could it be possible that his thoughts had been spoken out loud? Things were shaky enough as they were to have him moaning out loud about having received an impromptu blowjob from a perfect male stranger!

"What?" Harsh tone to hide his true feelings

"What… what?" Confusion once more.

Could he be wrong? Or was she playing him along? He felt his temper rise and pulled over to the sidewalk to be able to twist his body and look at her in the face.

"If you have something to tell me, tell it to my face Angell!"

"I haven't said a word!"

"Like hell you haven't! I'm not crazy, you know, at least, not the kind of crazy to be hearing things… so if you want to comment on what went down back at Ollie's, do it now and get off my back!"

She was silent for a moment or two. He braced himself for what she had to say.

"Don't fear the reaper…" she finally said.

What the…? Reaper? What reaper? What the hell was she talking about? His confusion was clear on his face, and he was at a loss for words.

"I've been trying to remember the lyrics to "Don't Fear the Reaper" the song by Oyster's Cult… I guess I was humming them…"

Flack looked at her for a long time. In the back of his head, he could hear the "na, na, na, na, na, na, na" in the chorus of the song she was talking about. And then he burst out laughing, marveling at the whole absurdity of it all. Jenn gave a small sigh of relief before joining him. If they could laugh, they were still good.

Two blocks away from their destination, Flack's cell phone rang. One glance at the screen told him it was Bryan.

"Hello lover-boy…" he greeted, grinning

"Cute, sugar-pie. Real cute. Now listen, honey-bunch, we just got to the Oyster and found they had already called it a day. Night-watchman, chatty fellow he is, tells us we blue boys showed up for an impromptu drug check, but we're cordially invited to come back after four this afternoon…"

Part of Flack was relieved to hear this, emotionally drained as he was and running mostly on adrenaline for the past couple of hours. But another part of him had wanted to get this over as quickly as possible. He sighed.

"Guess there's nothing else we can do, buddy. Six sounds good to you?" he finally asked.

He heard some mumbling on the other side of the call.

"More like sevenish to work for us. We're no spring chickens anymore and we need our beauty sleep…"

"Which is Bryan speak for you're planning on getting some…"

"Give my regards to Jenn, Flack"

They hung up and Flack felt in a better mood already. He quickly told Angell about the change in plans and he could see that she was happy at the idea of getting some sleep before going into Phase B. He made a quick u-turn and hesitated for a moment as to where to head next. If he went to his place, Angell might not like the way he was making assumptions; if he drove to her place, she might think he was anxious to get rid of her. Fortunately for him, she spoke before it became obvious which direction he was taking.

"Don…?" Hesitation filled that one single word.

"Yes." It wasn't a question. He was agreeing to whatever it was that she wanted, that she needed; he'd give it to her in a flash, no questions asked.

"Thanks" Relief evident, the huge burden having being removed from her shoulders. "Can we swing by my place to pack a few things then?"

He nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was the simple things in everyday life that made the difficult parts so much easier. And maybe it was because she was also a cop, or maybe it was because she'd grown up surrounded by males, but truth was, being with Jenn was so much easier than any other prior relationships… Flack cut himself short. Relationship? What on earth was he thinking! He didn't even know if she cared enough for him to overlook what she'd witnessed tonight and there he was talking relationship. True, he could turn the tables and say she was also doing some same-sex fucking around, but he wasn't a moralist and neither a hypocrite: watching Jenn with another woman was a fucking turn-on, a fantasy come true kinda deal. Watching him with another man… he shook his head, not wanting to remember.

Several blocks away, Robert and Bryan were getting ready to go to bed. When Bryan slid in between the sheets, Robert snuggled behind him, holding him against his chest. The former cop could feel the tension spilling from his loved one and decided to address the situation.

"They didn't do so badly"

"No, not really. Flack was right about the Angell kid… she's good. Quick thinker and not afraid to get her hands dirty…"

"I agree. I have to say he surprised me as well…"

Robert knew Bryan well enough as to know how to say things without actually saying them… he was also aware that Don Flack was a soft/sore spot in his husband's life, one that he wasn't allowed to touch unless asked to do so, and he wasn't about to alter the delicate balance of their relationship over this.

Bryan sighed. "I know. He surprised me, too. I would have sworn he didn't have it in him. Of course, he got all worked up over HER and not the barbarian he was screwing, but…"

"You're wondering if he'll manage if she's not around to contribute with the visuals?"

"Not exactly" Bryan turned around in bed to face his life mate. "I'm sorry I've brought him into our bed, hun. I know I'm asking way too much from you. If places were reversed, you'd be sleeping in the sofa most probably…"

Robert ran his hand gently over Bryan's face. "Babe, when I said I loved you and that it was for better or for worse, I didn't do it to piss my mother or the NYPD. I meant it when I said those vows, and I mean them today. I understand that there's something between the two of you that maybe I don't get, and yes, I'm somehow jealous as hell of him… but if this is important to you, then it is important to me. You ARE worried, Bry, can't deny that, but if you don't talk to me, I can't help you…"

Bryan leaned in and kissed him. "I must have done something absofuckinglutely great in a former life to deserve you. You're right, I'm worried about him… about his state of mind… not sure how's he's going to process what happened tonight, or the rest that's coming to him. He's a good man, Bobby… way to fucking good to deserve this shitty case…"

"He's got Jenn to help him…"

"Yeah, but she ain't unbreakable, either"

"I think she's far stronger than you give her credit for…"

"Hopefully she'll be… for all of our sakes. Last thing we need is a sexually disoriented Don Flack…"

"Nothing a good female lovin' won't cure, babe. And speaking of loving…"

Robert's hands had made their way down his husband's torso. Needless to say, there wasn't any more shop talk.

X xxx X

Although it was six in the morning, Jennifer Angell indulged in a bath. Lying amidst fragrant bubbles, she closed her eyes trying to relax and forget the whirlwind of a day she had just had. Her legs ached, her back was sore and she was trying to keep her mind from wandering too far away, too delve too much into the memories of the day.

Once they gotten to her place, she had gone straight into her bedroom to pack a few things. She noticed the blinking light in her answering machine and decided to ignore it. If Flack noticed as well, he chose not to mention it. She told him to help himself at the kitchen before disappearing into her room.

Flack had noticed the blinking light. He also noticed the folded slip of paper that had been slid under the door. Not meaning to pry, but unable to help himself, he picked it up and opened it. The note was from Rick Silva, and from the look of it, he was pissed off that she hadn't been at home or had not been in touch. Casually glancing at the answering machine, he wondered how many of the six messages displayed would be from him…

Jenn had come back from her room, bag packed, she found Flack in the kitchen, two steamy mugs of coffee in front of him, whisky bottle in hand. He raised an inquiring eyebrow at her and she declined with a head movement. If they started drinking to deal with this case, or to forget, a bottle would not be anywhere near enough. He shrugged his shoulders, put the bottle back under the sink and handed her a cup.

"I don't know about you, but if I have to keep my eyes open for another while I need some caffeine to do so…"

As they sipped their coffees in silence she kept looking at him, trying to find signs that he was starting to crack under the pressure. She could see that he was holding, but realized there was an underlying restlessness inside of him that might be dangerous if not addressed soon.

She also realized that she loved him.

And it was that realization that she was studying while sitting in a bath that screamed "male!" from wherever you looked. Should she be surprised then that he had lavender bath salts hidden under the counter? Or that he had a beautiful silk pajama simply laying around? A fool she wasn't, she understood that all of those things had not been intended originally for her; was that fact that he had given them to her now insulting? Or just a simple gesture from a man that could read anything on a suspect's eyes and yet could not read anything other than practicality in his gestures towards his coworker. It was simply who he was, and she loved him for who he was, and that was it.

Sighing, she got out of the tub and dressed once more in the soft blue pajama he'd given her the last time she'd been there… although it seemed decades away it had been only yesterday. She came out of the bathroom drying her hair and she heard noises coming from the living room. She went in to check what was going on, only to find Flack sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating a bowl of Cocoa Puffs and watching TV. A familiar musical background caught her attention.

"Turtles, Flack?" she asked, one eyebrow going up in surprise.

He mumbled his response through a spoonful of cereal. Grabbing the box, he shook it in her direction.

"Breakfast?" he asked.

Accepting his offer, she sat down on the floor as well.

"Michelangelo rocks" he said, motioning towards the screen, as if that explained it all.

"Personally, I've always preferred Donatello…"

"Why am I not surprised you know your turtles?"

"Keep bugging me and I'll channel surf until I find a rerun of "Biker Mice from Mars", you hear me?"

It was already day time when they finally went to bed. It was a given than they will share the bed once more, and as soon as they were settled down, he had his arms around her, pulling him close to his chest. There was only one thing that could stand between Flack and his nightmares, and that was Jenn. They'd come to the point where he needed her in his life, no questions asked. It was as simple as that.

Jenn knew him well enough to know he was going to need to talk about what had happened at the club. But she also knew him well enough to know that he wasn't going to just open his mouth and spit it out. He was going to need some prodding, and she was more than willing to give it to him. So she turned around inside his arms until she was facing him. His big blue eyes were staring deeply into hers, making her forget what she has wanted to say. Flack could feel the heat coming from her, he could feel the softness of her body… he could feel himself getting lost in those dark eyes of her. Something was going to give, and it was going to give in soon…

"I want to make love to you…"

X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X

**A/N: Bets are now open: who said that last line? Bonus points: play six degrees of separation and find the connection between this chapter to Gary Sinise (aka Mac Taylor)  
**


	12. Temptation, salvation

**A/N: So close… and yet so far…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

There was a moment of silence as they looked at each other, the words sinking in between them.

"That didn't come out quite like I intended it to…"

"Well… uh…"

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't"

"Don't?"

"The line was perfect…"

"Perfect?"

"Perfect enough to want to hear it every night for the rest of my life. That perfect enough for you?"

"More than perfect… but…"

Sighs.

"I know. The timing sucks, huh?"

"I wish things were different…"

"So do I"

"If I weren't so afraid, I might kiss you right now…"

"Would it really be so bad?"

"Think you could go through with what awaits us any easier if we let us happen just now?"

"Actually… quite the opposite. I wouldn't be able to bear the thought of someone other than me touching you…"

"Someone, somewhere, is having a riot at our expense, you know…"

"This is so friggin' unfair"

"I know" Silence "Can we at least sleep like this? In each other's arms?"

"Only if you promise to behave…"

"I'll behave if you behave"

"Ja-ja…you're so funny. Now it's my responsibility to keep us both out of our respective pants?"

"Someone has to be the responsible adult…"

"Who said I was an adult?"

"After what I've seen lately, I doubt you're a kid…"

"Look who's talking…"

They felt silent once more, their minds going back to what had happened at the bar.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly.

"Not particularly" Dismissive evasion.

She wasn't going to let it slide so easily. "Do you NEED to talk about it?"

Flack let go of her body and fell back on his back, arm thrown over his face. "Can't we simply forget about it?"

"I can… but I'm not sure if you will…"

"Dammit, Jenn!"

"Curse all you want, but sooner or later you'll have to talk about it…"

He sat up in bed, pulling his legs closer, crossing them, back hunched. He knew she was right, but he couldn't talk about it, not yet, not while looking at her. She seemed to sense this, and did not attempt to follow him. She simply lay there, on her side, and she slowly began to run her fingers over his back, trying to soothe the tension, trying to soothe his tormented soul.

Flack shuddered.

"Stop…"

She withdrew her hands, but stayed where she was, staring intently at his back, waiting for his next move. It had hurt to hear him say that, but she was willing to give him the chance to explain himself before reaching to conclusions that might be wrong. He remained silent for another moment or two.

"Fuck, Jenn, I can't do this!"

She kept silent.

"I can't not touch you, not when you're this close… I can't stop thinking about what this Nico might have done to you that you have not confided in me. I can't stop feeling ashamed of what I did back there… I can't stop wondering if you'll think less of me as a man for… for… for everything dammit!"

She sat up and gently slid behind him, her arms wrapped around his frame.

"Do you think less of me for having made out with a woman on the dance floor?" she asked quietly, her breath soft against his nape.

"Hell, no…"

"Then why would I think less of you for having done the same?"

"It's not the same Jenn… it's definitively not the same!"

"What were you feeling when you saw me?"

Her hands were now slowly running up and down his arms, easing away the tension. He leaned back into her, barely noticing he'd done it.

"I couldn't look away. It was… it was such a fucking turn-on to see you kissing her…"

"What else?" she whispered against his neck, her nails now playing with the soft hair that covered his chest, grazing his nipples every now and then. His breathing changed, deepening, and he began relaxing in some ways, but tensing in others.

"I wanted to see how far you'd go…" his voice was now barely above a hoarse whisper, his eyes closing despite his resolution of not giving in to his desires.

"Go on…" her words caressed his ear and he trembled. Her hands were now caressing his abs, tracing patterns within the patterns of his scars, moving lower and lower.

"I wanted it to be me…" confession through clenched teeth, afraid of what sound would come out of his mouth if he opened it.

Her hands were now inside his boxers, stroking him.

"Jenn, please…. Stop…." he hissed, wanting her to do exactly the opposite.

"Shhhh… it's okay Don… it's me…"

Her hand was now stroking his whole length, fingertips caressing the tip, as the other one was tracing maddening patterns around his nipples, then gently cupping his balls, her rhythm driving away his negatives. He was now slumped against her chest, his legs opening to give her access, his hips moving in time to the maddening pace she was setting. The moment her thumb began tracing circles on the tip, all the time pumping him in a tight fist, he forgot about everything.

"I wanted it to be you…" she whispered, then licked his neck. "I wanted to feel your body rubbing against mine. I needed to feel your hands all over me. I needed your lips on my skin…"

She continued pumping him, stroking him, driving him insane with her fingers, with her tongue running over his neck, sucking here and there, nibbling his earlobe as she breathed her words of need, and Flack found himself nearing the point of no return at a speed he wouldn't have thought possible at his age…

"I wanted to make you come..." she whispered, as the first drops of pre-cum appeared and she spread them all over his cock, relishing the feeling. Flack was now whimpering and moaning, his hands making fists of the sheet on each side of his body, his hips thrashing in desperation.

"I need to make you come… please Don… come for me… please..."

And he did. Long spurts shooting through hers fingers, his body taut, her name a hoarse scream through his parched lips, his whole body shaking.

When it was over, he fell back into bed, as Jenn had slid off from behind him. She quietly went into the bathroom to wet a washcloth to clean them both up. Flack was still taking shaky breaths; his body still shook by tremors every now and then, unable to remember when was the last time an orgasm had been so intense as to nearly knock him out. By the time Jenn was done cleaning him up, he had recovered enough to want to take the dominant role.

Jenn tried to turn and go put the washcloth back in place, but he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down on top of him, holding him tight against his chest.

"Jenn…"

It wasn't but a whisper, but the way he said it made her tremble. Who was she kidding? She wanted him, she wanted him so badly! She had not planned on actually taking things so far, but once she'd touched him, there had been no going back.

Flack felt her tremble and he found his desire hitting back full force. She challenged him, she drove him crazy, and he had to have her, in every possible aspect. Screw department regulations, and screw Vice and their case. How was he supposed to pretend that soft body pressed against him wasn't driving him crazy with need? How did they expect him to have her lips barely a couple of inches away and not devour them? How could he not fall for her? He'd been in love with her since forever, it seemed, feelings slowly simmering until it was too much to keep bottled.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered.

And he brought her face down to his, finally kissing her.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Muse decided to give them a break… but she might change her mind before the next installment!**


	13. Blind fury

**A/N: You can't always get what you want…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

Rick Silva was a man used to get what he wanted, when he wanted. And at the moment, of the three things he wanted, he was getting none.

And that didn't please him in the least.

Take Agnetti, for example. Instead of listening to him, he had been paying attention to the moanings of Captain Patterson. There had been a few times in the past few days that Silva regretted having brought Homicide into the mix, although it was necessary for things to work the way he wanted them to work. So he suffered the old fool in silence; after all, what the soon-to-be-retired Chief didn't know couldn't possible hurt either one of them. So Silva nodded and then did as he saw fit.

Then there was Jennifer. Rick couldn't understand what the hell had gotten into her. He knew for a fact that she was only getting some from him. And he kept his visits carefully spaced so she'd be more than willing to accept his advances. It wasn't like her to turn him down, let alone give him hell for wanting some nooky. Perhaps she was in her so-called "days"? Why do women transformed into royal bitches once a month?

The other matter in his mind could be solved with a simple phone call; phone call he was reluctant to make, but knew he'd have to do it sooner or later. But first, he'd have to clear a few points with Ms. Angell. Who was calling the shots, for starters.

A small part of him, a REALLY small part of him, felt bad about what had happened. She was a good kid, and hardly deserved what Jergens had done to her. Rick had considered himself lucky; all five of the Angell males had paid him a visit, separately, and he had lived to tell the tale with nothing worse than a bloody nose. He had even been magnanimous enough as not to press charges against Mick for it.

But where the hell was she? She wasn't answering his calls, and she hadn't been home. She hadn't been at any of her regular water holes, and he had already checked the two dinners she favored. He'd gone as far as paying a visit, a highly satisfying visit at that, to Lady Alexa and still no signs of her. He finally gave up, and headed for Flack's place. It had cost him a couple of favors to get it, as no one in Homicide was too willing to cough it up, but there's always someone willing to take a couple of bucks in exchange for information.

He rang the doorbell twice, with no response. He frowned; the department car was parked outside and the doorman had said that he was home. Impatiently, he began pounding on the door.

The door opened somewhat violently, and Silva came face to face with a very pissed off Donald Flack Jr. Taking one look at him, Silva decided that the man in front of him was suffering an acute case of _doorbellus coitus interruptus _and was far from happy with the person responsible for it. He decided to state his case and leave as fast as possible; it wouldn't help his case to have one of the major players mad at him.

"Sorry to bother you so early Flack, but I can't seem to get a hold on Angell and I was wondering if you knew where I could…"

Silva didn't finish his sentence. Standing behind Flack, clad in what could only be a very expensive silk pajama, was Jennifer Angell. What the fuck was she doing there so early in the morning?

"What is it Rick?"

Her tone wasn't pleasant. Her whole attitude was hostile. How dare she give HIM attitude?

"I've been calling you for hours. I thought we had agreed that you'd check in with me on a regular basis. I thought you understood this was a delicate assignment…"

"I KNOW, Rick. I'm fine, as you can see. I don't need a baby sitter, and I don't appreciate you barging in here. I thought WE had agreed that I needed my focus on the case…"

"It doesn't look as if you're focusing hard enough…"

Silva regretted having said the words the moment they left his mouth. Or perhaps it was the moment he felt Flack's arm pinning him hard against the door frame.

"You son of a bitch!" growled the blue-eyed detective.

"Don…"

It was just one word, barely one syllable, but it held a ton of meaning. Reluctantly, Flack let go of the Vice detective and turned to look at her. Silva could SWEAR a whole conversation was taking place right in front of him, except there were no words used in it. When the hell had those two developed such rapport?

"Rick, if you have something to inform us about the case, by all means do it, and do it quickly, cause we have slept for barely 3 hours, and we have to be at the Oyster's Cult in less than eight, and I'd really, REALLY love to get back to bed NOW. If what you have to say is not related to the case, well… I'm sure it can wait until this whole thing is over…"

Silva opened his mouth to retort, but thought it better when he saw Flack closing in on him again.

"Just wanted to check if you were keeping up your side of the bargain. I'm trusting you are. Wouldn't want to have a repeat of Jergens, would you, babe?"

And before either one of the Homicide detectives had a chance to reply, he was gone.

Flack closed the door behind him, carefully bolting it before turning back to Angell.

"Anything I need to know?"

"There used to be something, but not anymore. At least, not on my side."

"Am I right in believing he just threatened you?"

"Nothing that can't be handled. Don't worry about him…"

"I worry about you…"

"Then there's no need to worry at all"

Jenn turned around and headed back to the bedroom, wanting to put an end to the conversation, which she knew where it was headed: Nico.

But Flack was not going to let it slide. In two strides he was at her side, his hands on her shoulder, turning her to face him. Her slight grimace as he did so did not go unnoticed.

"Jenn?"

"It's okay"

If she had said anything else, he might have dropped it. But her negative only fueled his determination. Before she had a chance to protest, he pulled down the pajama top. Flack was taken aback by the depth of the bruises on her shoulders. What had been barely visible just twenty-four hours ago was now a whole array of purples, blacks and yellows.

"Like hell it is okay! It is everything but okay! What the fuck did he do to you, Jenn?"

She closed her eyes. She knew she couldn't avoid the conversation anymore, not after she had been on his case to open up about his own feelings.

"Nico likes handling people a bit on the rough side… he just grabbed me by the shoulders with a little less finesse than I'm used to, that's all."

Flack wasn't buying it.

"Turn around"

"Flack…"

"I said turn around"

Knowing this was a lost battle, she did as she ordered. She cringed a bit when she heard his gasp and muttered swears. It didn't hurt THAT bad, but, then again, she had been chewing pain killers like tic tacs for the past 48 hours. She had assumed she'd bruise, but never, in her wildest dreams had she expected she'd have to show them to Flack.

Flack was at a loss for words, his eyes darting from one bruise to the other. What kind of animal would dare to that to another human being? He could count the eight finger marks, four on each shoulder, he could see the long straight lines that crossed her lower back… riding crop came to mind. And finally, the thin lines that crossed her torso from side to side. He'd seen enough torture paraphernalia to know only a whip, a nine-o-tails whip, could be responsible for such marks.

He ran his fingertip gently along the bruised skin and saw her flinch slightly.

"You call this "handling"? He whipped you, for Christ sake! Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I knew you'd be upset and I didn't want you to worry…"

"Upset? UPSET? I want to kill the motherfucker with my bare hands!"

"Which is exactly why I didn't tell you before! Seriously, Flack, they look a lot worse than they hurt, really…"

Flack lost his patience then. Grabbing her by the upper arms he turned her around and pulled her closer until he was literally on her face.

"I don't give a shit if you think they look better or worse! Bottom line is, that animal dared touch you, to hurt you… and that ain't fucking sitting right with me! But you know what's worse? That they seem to sit right by you! Are you outta your fucking mind?? Where is the strong independent woman I know and when did she get replaced by this pathetic vict…"

He was so angry that he didn't see her punch coming. Not until he felt her hands shoving him backwards and her fist connect with his jaw.

"Shut up! How dare you judge me like that?? One more word and I swear to God I'm going to kick your ass!"

Flack rubbed his jaw as it stung like hell. But it was worth it...

"Glad to have you back, Angell. I was kinda getting tired of the toned-down, water-colored version of yourself…"

He stopped short when he saw the heel of her right foot barely an inch away from his nose.

"Don't push your luck, Don. I'll break your nose, so help me God, I will, if you don't shut the fuck up right this moment…"

As if he needed any more fueling…

Grabbing the extended leg, Flack twisted it to the side, making her loose her balance and land hard on her naked back with an audible curse and a grimace of pain. Flack was kneeling by her side in two seconds.

"I'm sorry Jenn, I'm sorry… I'm such an idiot…"

"You ARE an idiot… gawd fuck it hurts!"

He gathered her in his arms and carried her to the bed, gently placing her face down and inspected the damage. The welts had acquired an angry red coloring, and one of them had opened and was bleeding slightly.

"Wait here… I'll get something…"

He hurried to the bathroom where he got a clean washcloth. Rummaging through his medicine cabinet, he found the ointment his mother used to buy to patch him up after his high school hockey games. He had kept on buying the stuff himself, as it did wonders on bloodied knuckles and messed noses.

Coming back into the bedroom, he sat gently next to her and began washing her back.

"You didn't have these checked, did you?"

"I hadn't had time to worry about it… besides; I can't quite reach some of them"

"You shoulda told me, Jenn… I would have taken care of them"

"It would have opened a rather unpleasant can of worms…"

"Well, the can's already opened, so…"

She understood what he was trying to tell her. Too tired to pick up a fight, she closed her eyes and sighing, told him about what Nico had done to her the previous night.

X xxx X

Meanwhile, downstairs, Rick Silva was also nursing an injury himself. By the time he'd reached his car his frustration was beyond boiling point. He kicked the tires, hard, but it did nothing to appease him; then he slapped the car's roof, but that hadn't helped either. Finally, he whirled around and threw a punch at the wall behind him. And another, and another, until he felt one of his knuckles crack and saw the blood soaking his shirt's cuff. Grabbing the first aid kit form the trunk, he patched himself up as best as he could, and then sat at the driver's seat, fuming.

How dare she? How could she be fucking Flack and turning him down? He was so much better than the Irish bastard! Besides, it had been HIM, not Flack, at her side during her worst moments… didn't that mean a thing to her? Where was her loyalty?

The lying bitch had told him she loved him! Granted, she had not said it in a while, and he had never said it, but it wasn't about him, but her, and if she had said it she had to remain true to her words. He was the one calling the shots, not her, and he'd show her. He'd truly show her!

Grabbing his phone, he made the phone call he had been putting off all day long.

X xxx X

After Angell had finally fallen into a troubled sleep, Flack lay awake, trying to come to terms with what she had told him. There had been times in the last 10 years that he had felt like taking justice into his own hands; his finger having faltered on the trigger of his service gun at least twice. Twice as well he had ordered the guarding officers to step outside while he had a "talk" with the suspect in custody, all the while rolling his sleeves up. And he was certain that if Frankie hadn't been DOA, he would have finished him off and Mac had better not gotten into his way.

But he'd never experienced the kind of blind fury he was experiencing now, a rage so primal that it hung to his skin and cursed his veins and he knew, he KNEW, that if push came to shove he'd forget he carried a badge and had sworn to uphold the law. Quite simply, if Nico Barbeito ever gave him the chance, Flack would kill him, consequences be damned. He'd probably enjoy it, too.

Flack had been raised to behave like a gentleman and he had never laid a finger on a woman with the intent to hurt her. He had never understood how a man could beat his wife simply because he didn't like the way the soup she'd made him tasted. But a man like Nico? Flack wouldn't even PRETEND to understand. How could a man grab a perfect stranger by the shoulders, force her to kneel and keep her there as she fellated two other men at gunpoint?

Nico had demanded Jenn to demonstrate her whipping technique and, having found it not to his liking, had taken into himself showing her how it was done. He has used her as demonstrating subject, claiming things learned the hard way were things you were less likely to forget.

And then there was the whole issue with the knife. Flack shuddered, thinking what had gone through her head, having being carved herself by a psycho, when she realized she was expected to become the carver, having Nico breathing down her neck the whole time, asking if she needed "a lesson". He could only imagine the terror when the bastard had, as a joke, strapped her down on a mechanical contraption, his "raping machine", just so she could experience what their victims went through, and rejoice in that feeling.

Flack made up his mind. Nico Barbeito would not set foot in jail. He'd go into Headquarters feet first, and Flack felt sorry for Sid. He'd have his work cut up for him, pun very much intended.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: If push came to shove… think Flack has it in him?**


	14. Crossing lines

**A/N: Do you think life is fair? Do you? Really?**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

"Godammed motherfucker!"

Angell knocked quietly on the bathroom door. They had been getting ready to go to the club, after spending the morning sleeping and watching TV and generally being lazy. And now Flack was inside the bathroom cursing for all he was worth.

"Everything okay in there?"

"Everything's just peachy, Angell. I just diminished Mamma Flack's chances of getting a grandson any time in the near future by eighty percent or more, but other than that, everything is a fucking perfect!"

Chatty Flack was not a good thing. Whiny Flack, she could handle, for that meant his annoyment was only skin deep. Chatty Flack, on the other hand, meant that he was hurting and he kept a nonstop chatter I order to keep his mind away from what was really bothering him.

"May I come in?"

"You wanna gloat or something?"

"I'm hurt you think my intentions are anything but honorable…"

"But… oh, what the hell… come in…"

Angell pushed the door carefully, not knowing where he could be situated. She found him crouching by the toilet, teeth clenched. She also noticed she had an amazing view of his bare ass, which she tried real hard not to stare at. But, then again, she couldn't look at any part of him, as it appeared that he was completely naked and in some sort of pain.

"I pinched my fucking balls with this goddamed piece of cloth, loins or thong or whatever the fuck you want to call it!"

"I see"

She had found a spot near his forehead where she could focus her gaze and not burst out laughing… not that he hurting himself was funny per se but… oh hell, who was she kidding? It was funny as hell; she'd just have to be wise enough as to not let it show…

"How do you do it, huh? How the hell do you wear these things? I can barely stand up and you women seem to live 24/7 with no complaints whatsoever…"

She felt sorry for him. He was working his damnest best towards pulling this gig and he was being set back by mere two square inches of leather. She'd be frustrated as well if she were him… had actually been frustrated when she had to fight the evil boots from nightmare street.

"I guess it's just a matter of physiology, hun… and practice"

"Do you really enjoy wearing them?"

They say curiosity did kill the cat… or, in this case, Flack.

"Sure… although I prefer to go commando whenever possible… thongs are pretty comfortable and can be… uh… stimulating…"

As soon as her words left her mouth, she regretted them. He didn't, for his balls stopped hurting and began throbbing with a different kind of feeling… he couldn't avoid glancing below her waist, trying to figure out what, if any, was she wearing at the moment. He still felt like killing Silva for breaking the moment.

For him, the Earth had literally stopped spinning on it axis as soon as he felt Angell's mouth on his. The kiss had not been passionate… more like a gentle and tender caress which ended way too soon for him. Holding her firmly against his body, he had turned in bed until she was beneath him. With a quick movement, he opened the pajama top, moving the clothing away so her torso was completely naked. He had positioned himself on top of her carefully, letting his body weight fall just so for them to feel the contact between their skins, but not so much that he suffocated her under his weight. Then he had swooped down for another kiss.

And another, and another, and another…

He could have kept on kissing her all morning long, just kissing her and feeling the way her body trembled underneath him but Silva had seen fit to interrupt the moment. And given what had transpired after he'd left, the kissing had been put on hold indefinitively.

Of course, the fact that they had stopped doing it did not mean they had stopped thinking about it.

So there they were, standing too close in a room that was too small and pretending not to be openly staring at the other and wondering… Their eyes met and held. And the house of cards that was their façade of composure came crumbling down.

"Stand up"

Not a request, an order. She walked towards him; he kept his gaze down, slightly trembling with anticipation, uncertain of what came next in this dark game of madness where neither 

one of them were clear on the rules, but were both knew what prize would have to be paid if they failed.

As dispassionate as possible, she studied the sole garment he was wearing. A leather thong, clearly a size too small for him in every sense, paired with a much too recent first waxing, were the culprits of his discomfort. That and the fact that he hadn't tucked himself correctly; a fact she quickly corrected in a professional matter-of-fact fashion that didn't fail to amaze and excite him.

"Come" she said, and for a moment he was uncertain of what she meant, until he saw her turn around and leave the bathroom, and he was quick to follow her into the bedroom. Laying on the bed were her crop and her leather boots. She sat next to them, and took them in her hands.

"Put them on me" she ordered, handing them to him.

He knelt in front of her and did as he was told, taking his sweet time doing so. Despite his original objections as to not having any sort of fetishes, the whole experience had been an erotic adventure from day one and he couldn't help but feel in a perpetual state of semi arousal. Once the second boot was zipped up, his hand lingered for a moment on his mistress thigh. His action was rewarded with a swift smack using the crop.

Jezebel stood up. Grabbing her boy toy by the chin, she forced him to look up at her while still kneeling.

"Donnie, Donnie, Donnie… you're not being a good boy today. I think you need a punishment to help you remember that you cannot do anything without my permission…"

Why did the whole thing have to be such a fucking turn-on? His erection was now clearly outlined through his leather thong, the pull of the string nested in between his cheeks crossing back and forth the line between pleasure and pain.

"Get up"

He did as ordered, is hands modestly crossed in front of him, as his mistress had not allowed him to have an erection. Jenn looked him over, trying to stay in character. She ran her crop over his body, sliding it down his sides and then up again on the inside of his legs, dragging it slowly, so maddeningly slowly, watching as his muscles quivered under her touch. How she longed to touch him with her own hands! But she knew she wouldn't stop at simply touching and it was better if she kept her hands off him. That is was safer if she kept her hands off him.

She moved around him, staying behind him, watching his back muscles tremble. She couldn't help but smile when she noticed his clenching and unclenching of his lower back muscles in vain search of some relief for the tension created by the thing he was wearing. And as charming and tempting as she thought that was, it wasn't an acceptable behavior in a slave. Hating to have to do so, but with no other choice, she took her crop and smacked his buttocks, hard enough to sting, but not hard enough to hurt.

He bit his lower lip to avoid giving out a startled yelp. It hadn't hurt… at best, it smarted, but it was the surprisingness of the action that had got to him. On the surface, his quick temper was irked… how dared she? He'd show that shrew! But his rationale, deep below but still reigning over everything else, thanked her. He was supposed to be used to getting beaten on regular basis, to actually get off by being hit… surprise was definitively not an acceptable answer.

Angell went over to the big box containing all the leather paraphernalia Vice had given Flack and started moving things around. When she came back, she put the garments she had chosen on the bed: a black fishnet long-sleeved tee shirt and a pair of boy shorts. She had also chosen a pair of black construction boots that made Doc Martens look high fashion. The final add-on to the bed was a leather choker with spikes, something you'd expect to see around a pit bull's neck, with a detachable leash.

"Get dressed"

Flack did as told, slightly unnerved by the revealing attire and the fact that her gaze never left his body, watching his every move. He felt virtually naked, and completely vulnerable, in her choice of clothing, and the whole choker/collar made him uneasy… he'd heard of yanking one's chain, but this was completely over the top. When he finished dressing he stood still again, hands once more placed in front.

Angell circled him once more, taking a critic attitude, searching for flaws, but finding none. Feeling bold, she ran her hands over his ass, squeezing tightly. She then moved to stand before him to give him a look over.

The collar was a perfect fit: not too tight, not too loose, and it gave him a bad motherfucker air that suited him just fine. The tee was just an excuse for clothing; being nothing more than a glorious bunch of holes separated by thin threads… she got distracted when she noticed his left nipple peeking out through one of them, as if begging for attention. She closed her eyes, and images of both wood and metal clamps flashed before them. She opened her eyes and looked at his nipples again; these were virgin nipples, never once subjected to torture, still rosy and small sized.

And if she could notice it, there was no way in hell that a professional sadist such as Nico would miss it.

Avoiding his eyes, for she hated what she was about to, she got hold of both nipples in each one of her hands and pinched them. Hard. A strangled noise came from Flack's throat, but he managed to silence it quickly. She kept manhandling them until he grew a bit more comfortable with that level of pain and then she went on to bite one of them, sinking her teeth with restrained force, and then proceeding to rake her long nails over it. She moved to the other one and repeated the same procedure over and over again, alternating between nipples, until they grew distended and engorged and had lost their rosy tint, substituting it for a darker, purplish tone.

When she looked down she was a bit surprised to find the bulge of his erection straining his shorts. If he could reprise this whilst Nico played with him they'd have bagged the whole thing, but that was a huge if… she had been as gentle as possible within the limits set by the circumstances and Nico did not waste time in such niceties.

Nevertheless, she gave in to a little whim and tenderly stroked him.

"Good Donnie…. Such good boy, such good Donnie" she murmured as she held him in her hands, wishing impatiently for the moment when she'd actually feel him inside of her.

Reluctantly, she let go of him and took a step back. Giving him one final once-over, she moved towards the door, intent on leaving the room.

"Practice time is over, Flack, time to get going"

He was on her in a second, pinning her face down against the wall, his hands moving all over her, his desperation clear in his movements, his breathing… his words.

"I want you so badly…"

His right hand was working on her breasts, recreating the same movements she had performed on him, twitching and pinching and bringing her nipples to painful, pleasurable attention. His left hand finally got to work the zipper on her crotch, and his fingers began stroking her clit in a rough pattern that had her whimpering. He was humping her, rubbing his erection all over her ass, her slick leather covered ass, as his mouth latched to her lower neck, sucking, biting.

He was surprised by this blinding need… if he could, he would crawl inside her body; that much he needed to be a part of her, to feel her a part of him. Soon it wasn't enough and he stopped his movements trying to figure out what would be the best way to fuck her given the present dressing conditions. A moment hesitation was all she needed, and she used it to turn around to face him and try pushing him away.

Flack wasn't having any of it. Reacting, more than acting; convinced he had to have her or die, he raised his hand to pin her wrists above her head, causing her to instinctively flinch.

It was as if he had been slapped, hard. He took two staggering steps backwards, away from her, and tried sitting on the bed. He missed the mark entirely, and ended up sitting on his ass next to the bed, a bewildered and shocked expression on his face. Angell had also slid down the wall, half kneeling, trying to catch her breath. They stared at each other, from across the room, not knowing what to say. Flack couldn't erase from his mind the expression of fear that had fleetingly filled her eyes, and was starting to seriously hate himself for making her think he would harm her in any way. He hung his head in shame, unable to look at her in the eye any longer.

"I'm sorry… I'm so, so sorry…"

Her whispered apology had him looking up again. Was she out of her mind? He had almost raped her, had caused her to think he'd hit her, and she was the one apologizing? It should be him, HIM, down on his hands and knees begging for her forgiveness. He tried getting up, but when he put his arm on the bed to gain leverage, the whip and the leash fell to the floor next to him with a thud and a slinky clatter. Looking down at them, he realized there was only one thing, and one thing alone, he could do.

Angell looked in confusion a she grabbed the leash from the floor and snapped it into the collar/choker he was wearing. Her confusion turned to shock as she saw him grab the whip, place it between his teeth, and begin crawling towards her. She stood up, shaking her head in refusal and horror, as he placed the leash and the whip in her hands and crouched at her feet.

"No… no… I can't… not to you… not because of me… no… NO!"

Her blood nearly froze as she heard his next words:

"Donnie has been very bad. He did some very bad things. He needs to be punished by his mistress Jezebel…"

He moved his hands to pull the shirt over his head, leaving his back bare. She had tears streaming down her face… this was so fucked up, the whole case was a fuck up, and they were going mad… would it had been so bad to submit to his desires? They'd be having sex like madmen instead of her being here, whip in her hand, him waiting for her to strike the first blow… both situations were wrong in all kinds of levels, but at least in the first stance it would have been her the one hurting, not the one doing the damage.

"Please forgive me…" she murmured once, before bringing the whip down on his back.

She did it again, and again, and again, until the whip was just a hazy blur moving at the end of her arm. Flack was biting his lower lip to stop himself for making any noise, enduring the penitence. She had been smart, thinking about roughing up his nipples, but he was taking things a bit farther; the only way to cover for non-existing old scars is to show them some newly fresh ones. And if she could kick his ass in private, she was going to excel at doing it in public. His only regret was the amount of guilt she was going to have to carry around because of him and he promised to make it up to her tenfold in every way he could.

The only remaining thing to be seen was that if he was man enough to get off on such level of depravation. This had nothing to do with love making, and he was thankful he had been stopped when he had, for he wanted their first time together to be an act of love. There'd be plenty of time later for fucks, quick and strong, whenever and wherever they felt the urge, but not their first time. Romantic and old-fashioned, perhaps, but if he didn't love her, he wouldn't care. So he concentrated on the memories of them together, the good memories, like the feel of her breasts in his hands, or the way she moaned his name in his mouth as they kissed, as Jezebel kept her whip dancing and he kept going back and forth between pleasure and pain…

And when she was done, he couldn't remember having experienced such a potent orgasm in a very long time.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Twisted as fate itself. Next stop, "The Oysters Club"**


	15. Team work

**A/N: Together we stand, divided we fall…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

Saying that it had been like going to hell and back would have been an understatement. Actually, going to hell and back would have been a walk in the park compared to what they had gone through and managed to survive. Flack refused to think of it in any other terms. Survive. She would survive. She was strong; she could leap back from the doors of death. She had to. She still had to explain to him why she had made such a foolish choice and he had still to tell her he loved her.

Flack tried to sit still, but it was virtually impossible. The impatience of no news biting his insides, the sting from the deep cuts on his back and in his soul, the pulsing pain from the stitches starting to heal... or at least, he wanted to believe they were healing; for the past two days there hadn't been any blood in the toilet bowl after he'd visited it, and that HAD to be good news. He avoided looking into reflective surfaces, uncertain as to whether he was doing it out of vanity or for his mind's sake; knowing all too well what he'd see if he did: broken nose, split open lips, black left eye, fractured cheekbone… and the gash starting from his forehead all the way down to his now almost useless right eye, the one that he already knew was going to leave a nasty scar. Not the first one, or the worst one, in his life, mind you, but the only one that wouldn't wait until a third date before he had to show.

Not that he was thinking about dating. He doubted he'd ever again feel comfortable when it came to intimacy; the issues going far too deep for even a dozen shrinks to work it out with him. There was only one person in the world that we would consider touching in an affectionate way as things were, and that person was inside a hospital room, still touch and go, and Flack knew that if she didn't make it… if she didn't make her, half of him would die with her.

Danny Messer had kept his distance since he had arrived to the hospital that morning. He had tried, you bet he had tried. But when Don Flack closed down, nothing in this world would get him to open up until he was fine and ready to do so. And Flack was far from ready. He had not said a word to any of them since he'd given his statement three days prior to a Mac Taylor whose hand had wavered slightly as he jotted down all the broken words coming from the broken young man's lips. Stella had tried taking the photos, but Flack had refused to even let her near him. Danny had seen the hurt in her eyes, but she had left without a word and it had been Danny's job to get photographic evidence of the case. After he was done shooting them both, he had handed the camera to Adam, who was waiting outside the room, unsure if he wanted to go in and witness for himself what was rumored to be behind closed doors, and had locked himself up in the bathroom. After throwing up, he had slid against the wall and cried until he felt empty inside. He was mourning his friends, Don far more than Angell, for he knew, without a doctor to confirm it, that life as they had known it was pretty much over.

Flack refused to sleep. He was afraid she'd slip away if he let his guard down. He was afraid of the things he'd see if he closed his eyes. He was afraid he'd wake up screaming. He was afraid he'd never wake up at all. Every time his lids stayed down longer than necessary, flashes of the case shone in all their Technicolor glory on his mind's screen. Jenn geared in leather, poking fun of him. Her boots, taunting him. The stupid leather g-string he had chosen to wear. Brian and Robert tending to his back wounds, pleading with him to tell her how he felt about her. Angell's scream as the knife came down… the knife… Flack sat up with a startle, gasping for breath like a man who had been about to drown. Nurses looked at him and shook their heads; their pleas for him to accept medication had remained unheard for three days now…

Stella had left the hospital in a state of angered restlessness she didn't feel often. She felt useless in helping Angell and had not liked Flack's rejection. Then she had read his statement and for a moment, for a very brief moment, she actually hoped Angell wouldn't make it. Then she got over it and swore she'd help the younger woman deal, that she'd do everything in her hand to nurse her back to health, both physical and mental… that she'd find a way to chase the nightmares away, not only for her, but for Flack as well. She understood why he had asked her to leave, grasping at straws to keep a shred of dignity intact, and she was no longer upset with him. She admired him more than ever, and she vowed to personally kick the shit out of anyone who ever even thought about giving him grief over this whole case.

Angell's thoughts drifted in a hazy cloud… she thought she'd heard her father's voice, and it pained her to make him suffer like this, but she had no choice. She was neither here, nor not here, and the only thing that kept her somewhat anchored was Flack's plea for her not to die. At least, not to do so before he could kill her himself…

Rick Silva moved about the precinct as jittery as a cat in a room full of rockers. He looked like a man who was waiting for the other shoe to fall, and to fall hard when it did. He kept things to business, as usual, temporary head of Vice since Agnetti had been killed in the line of duty during Nico's dungeon's raid. He was pissed. He had wanted this for way too many years, but not this way. He had wanted Agnetti to witness how he made it to the top. And he wanted his crowning to be immaculate, not a loose end in sight. And now, thanks to the blood bath mess he had in his hands, 9 cops dead and one barely threading the line, he had a shitload of unanswered questions. He had already demanded from Homicide's Cap the full report, but the old bastard had simply replied that Mac Taylor had it, and Mac Taylor would not share until his investigation was done and that Silva had nothing to fear. But if there was one man Rick Silva feared, that was Mac Taylor.

Flack's body, battered as it was, was proving to be far stronger than his mind, for it seemed to have a will of its own. It had been close to 50 hours since he had last slept, and no matter how hard he tried to keep awake, he was simply losing the battle now that shock had worn off and adrenaline had finished running its course. But he feared the nightmares, and he feared meeting her in his dreams, for he was certain, illogically so, that if he met her in his dreams it'd be only for her to say good-bye. And that… that was something he wasn't ready to accept just yet.

Cap Patterson paced in his office, cursing the moment he had agreed to Agnetti's idiotic plan. He had 6 widows and 3 mothers on his back, all demanding to be given an explanation and a body to bury and he couldn't give any of them any. He had spoken with Taylor, and agreed the whole thing stank to Heavens. He had spoken, or rather listened, to Sinclair, who demanded at least one head to roll. He'd stopped by to check up on Angell, his heart going out to her, lying like a broken puppet on the hospital bed, her olive complexion a ghostly hue. He had barely been able to look at Sergeant Angell in the face, feeling he had let the man down, for he had allowed the other man's baby to be harmed during his watch. He had tried to approach Flack, but one look at his detective's face told him to stay away, as far away as possible, and Cap was slightly thankful for that, for he did not know how to tell him that Robert and Brian March had been two of the raid's casualties… although Cap had the feeling that Flack already knew it, for the young man had not once asked for them… or about them.

The music… the music had been playing so loud it had hurt his ears, but he couldn't do anything about it. They were surrounded by people… nameless faceless bodies gyrating and rubbing and touching… he felt denigrated and diminished, his role merely reduced to a chunk of meat for Jenn… no, Jezebel, to peddle and offer to the highest bidder, expected to perform like a circus monkey at a moment's notice, rewarded and punished in the same measure, by the same crop. Sheer madness descending as he got lost in the mists of lust, cheap perfume and semen…

Lindsay and Adam were working together, completely silent, but not comforted by it in the least. They had Angell's and Flack's clothes, what little was of them, and they were analyzing them for evidence. Why were they doing such a fruitless job, it was beyond Adam, but he wasn't about to question Mac's orders. Adam knew, as well as Lindsay and everybody else in the lab, that this case would never get to see the inside of a court house, not when everyone involved was 12 floors below them, neatly tucked inside the morgue's fridge. And the only two people who were left to tell the tale… for there were two; Adam refused to think that Angell would not make it… the only two were victims that would never get justice done in their behalf. If any, sadly, they'd probably be filing for early retirement, the case quickly lost between other equally anonymous file in the dark underground maze they called archive.

Angell… Angell had been stroking another boy toy… seemingly to lovingly do so, before the crop came down, punishing, and a yelp… a grimace of pain and grateful tears in eyes that stared at her adoringly… whispered words of worship, promising to be better than her own slave, if only she'd give them a chance! And Flack felt rage and impotence and immense jealousy and he wanted to hate Jezebel for discarding him so easily, for leaving him in hands of strangers, for submitting him to an almost inhuman treatment, reduced to a simple object to be used and thrown away… every time he briefly remember all the things that had been placed inside his mouth, things he had so willingly accepted and taken, his stomach churned and he could feel bile and nausea erupting, barely able to contain the disdain he felt for himself, for having allowed it to go so far, for having accepted it to go so far…

Lindsay couldn't tell what got more to her… the amount of donors in both of her friends' clothing or the amount of blood. Both samples spoke to her of abuse and death, circling around, like vultures. Danny had told her of the injuries he had seen, weeping like a child in her arms, and these pieces of leather told no different a story. She had hoped, oh how she had hoped, that some of the blood were not Angell's, but that was a wish she wouldn't get granted. How the young detective was still alive was a mystery to her, for it defied the science she was using as a shield to protect her own sanity, for her mind could not wrap around the tales of torture Danny had frighteningly whispered in her ears…

Flack had tried to fight back, to resist, but in the end, he had welcomed the syringe that plunged him into darkness, cozy darkness where he could see nothing, he could hear nothing, he could remember nothing… he could feel nothing. He embraced the nothingness willingly, for he was too tired to keep fighting. Snippets of conversations drifted here and there… weakened condition… possible heart failure… diminished mental lucidity… he also welcomed those… so much better for him to have set in motion his demise, if she was gone, so would he…

Sid has seen so much in so many years, but still had not managed to shell shock himself against watching a fellow officer on his table. He was just grateful that it hadn't been his young friends who'd been in need of his services, for he was certain he'd never be able to do it, and neither would Doc Hawkes. Their hearts would not allow it. His heart, however, was at the moment beating to a different tune, one he seldom felt in his line of work. Nico Barbeito lay before him, a story of abuse and self-abuse dating back so long; Sid wasn't able to tell how young this man had been when he got his first scar. Burn scars, knife wounds, bullet holes, bite marks, scratches, bruises… too much on one single body, not any making sense. Even worse, the terrible "esthetic" surgery this… this man had undergone to create a monstrous penile weapon: studs of all sizes and shapes imbedded on his flesh, razor-sharp edges inserted on slits and folds of skin grafted specifically for the purpose… he was the abuser and the abused, Sid knew, for clear evidence of rectum reconstructive surgeries, plural, were evident as well. Sid couldn't remember when was the last time he'd felt so nauseated…

"Miracle she's made it this far… chances growing slimmer with each passing hour… she'll never go back to the force if she makes it… will never be able to bear children…" Words. Jumbled words coming to her from…somewhere. Present, but not quite so. Her body slowly healing, but her mind refusing to go back. Suspended in time…

Mac had not moved from his desk in hours. He had typed his preliminary report, based solely on Flack's testimony and the initial forensic evidence they had recovered at the site. He knew the words almost by heart, having read the whole thing over and over again. Not that he needed to read it in the first place; he had been one of the first respondents at the scene and he couldn't remember seeing such senseless carnage in a long, long time; not since his days in the Marines. Slaughtered. That's what Nico Barbeito had done with the slaves he had hidden in his dungeon; that's what he'd done to the police officers that raided the place trying to rescue Flack and Angell… he stopped himself short there. The memories were too personal, too painful, too raw to bear; but he kept doing it over and over again, unable to forget finding Angell virtually gutted from her breast bone to her pubic bone, thinking she was dead as well; finding a naked rambling Flack bleeding from tens of hundreds minute cuts, going out of his mind trying to keep Angell alive…

Gasping, Flack came back from the dark shadows of his subconscious. He had managed to avoid the house of horrors that Nico's place had been, but he had remained prisoner of the Oyster's Cult web of depravity. His heart beat ringing on his ears; he realized he finally remembered the exact moment when things had gotten a turn for the worse, a rampant race into madness: the dancing, the laughter (fake and real), bodies touching and sweating and arousing forbidden sensations in both detectives; both detectives feeling overwhelmed and daunted by their surroundings and how fast they'd allowed themselves to be pulled in, neither one of them hypocrite enough to deny that at one level, at one tiny level, they had enjoy the trip to the dark side.

One moment Angell was dancing with Brian, the next, she was in the arms of a man she had not expected to see; a man that did not seem willing to let go off her, either.

"Fancy meeting you here Jezebel. And with darling Donnie, too!"

Nico Barbeito.

All hell had broken loose.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: I'd like to apologize both for the waiting time and for the change of pace. I simply couldn't bring myself to narrate the events in a linear fashion in such way it'd do the story justice and yet not go overboard with the details and the violence. So flashbacks it is; I rather go Hitchcock's discreet approach than Roth's blatant gore. Please tell me if it worked…**


	16. Empty

**A/N: Can you hear me? **

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

"Retirement with full pension". "Permanent disability compensation". "Honorary post-mortem decoration" The words in front of Cap's eyes made no sense to him at all. He knew what they meant, but he couldn't bring himself to associate them with Flack and Angell. He rebelled at the idea of considering anything but having them walk through that door any minute, flirting and taunting each other, getting ready to tackle another interrogation, fleeing to a crime scene… Cap simply couldn't conciliate the fact that there'd be no more fleeing for either one of them. If Angell made it, she'd be confined to a wheel chair and Flack… although one-eyed cops were not unheard of, Cap had serious doubts his heart would still be in the game.

Flack had been put under once again; doctors considering his body needed more time to mend than his mind was allowing him to. The feeding line was back in place, the first one having been ripped out when he refused to stay in bed a moment longer. Hawkes stood at the feet of his bed, reading the medical charts and looking at the sleeping form before him. He had talked with Mac and had already done the necessary paperwork, and yet… he hated the idea of having to commit Flack to the psychiatric ward. It would be the only way to go if Flack insisted on taking the self-destruction road, and Hawkes prayed Don was stronger than that, although he knew he was praying for a miracle.

Stella sat in the room, holding Angell's limp hand in hers, gently stroking her arm, speaking in a soothing voice, hoping that she would hear her somehow. Inasmuch as she wanted to keep optimistic, the logical part of her agreed with what the doctors were saying… it'd be better for all if Jenn never woke up. Through the glass, she could see a slumbering Flack, finally worn down enough to agree to be sedated and put back in a bed, Hawkes persuasiveness playing a huge part in it. Perhaps it would be better for some of them, the department specifically, but it certainly wouldn't be better for Flack. Quite the opposite, in fact. Stella feared, just as Hawkes and Mac and Danny feared, that the only thing keeping Don sane was the fact that he could cling to the hope of her coming back. Loosing Angell would mean losing Flack, and Stella was sure not one of them was ready to face that possibility yet, maybe not ever.

Angell could sense Stella sitting next to her, and she could hear her words, but she could not feel her touch. Angell couldn't feel anything physical, for that matter, but she refused to wonder why. She wasn't ready to face reality yet, and she wasn't sure if she'd ever be, and it was so good just to slip beneath the surface, listening but not participating, she aware of them, and them not knowing she was aware, it was so cozy to be hiding away! She'd thought she'd remain happily in hiding forever, save for two things: she hadn't heard Flack's voice in a long time, and it worried her not to hear him demanding her to wake up, cause she had a helluva explaining to do. Plus, her memories were rebelling against her will to keep them far away, and she was slowly but surely starting to remember pieces and bits… and from the looks of it, she'd do much better if she was fully "awake" when the dam broke and the horror flooded her existence.

Soon, but not just yet.

Danny burst into Mac´s office, agitation written in his features, anger marking every move he made.

"Whatcha mean you're going to have him institutionalized?!"

"I'm not going to do anything Danny"

"But Hawkes filled the paperwork!"

"I know, Dan… I know…"

"How can you do this to him??"

"I'm not…"

"That's bullshit and you know it, Mac!"

Mac's patience, thin as it was, ran out. Standing up, smacking the desk as he did so, he became the imposing Marine of his youth.

"Dammit Danny! Will you shut up and listen? Sinclair wants every corner covered, and that includes Don's medical care if he has a break down!"

"Sonofabitch! He's covering his ass already!"

"Danny…"

"He is Mac! He doesn't give a shit about Flack or Angell…"

"Sinclair is trying to keep Don's options as open as possible. IF he needs the treatment, IF he chooses to come back to the force…"

"Come back? Of course he's coming back, Mac! It's Flack we're talking here… he's coming back. He has to…"

Mac knew the struggle inside the young man could not be cured with a single hand on the shoulder, but he tried anyway.

"Danny… I want him back too. But we can't force him to do something he doesn't want to, or force him to do it when he's not ready. I wish I could tell you he'll be the same in a few weeks time, but…"

"But I want him the same! He did it the first time around, why can't he bounce back again?"

"Danny… the damage… the damage is not the same…"

Mac understood that Danny's refusal was a coping mechanism, but he couldn't let his investigator hold unto dreams that had no chance to come true; no chance at all.

"You know how he is, Mac. Flack is a stubborn Irish sonofabitch, he's pulling through. You'll see. And once he's back on his feet he's gonna get on Angell's case and get her up and running… up and… and… "

Reality won in the end. Mac held the young man's trembling body as he cried, for the hundredth time that week; not for the last time that week.

"Why, Mac? Why them?"

Mac wished he could answer that question.

There was a place in the lab, almost hidden between the computers, which Adam had long ago claimed as his own hiding place. That's where Kendall found him, sitting on the floor, hugging his knees, head held down.

"Adam?" she asked softly, kneeling next to him, "are you okay?"

"They didn't stand a chance…" he muttered.

"Who, Adam? Who didn't stand a chance?"

"The… the people in those dungeons… he… he had a whole room filled with razors… it was like one of those fun houses at the amusement parks, you know? Where you can't see where you're going and you open a door and fall into a room full of sponges?" Kendall nodded her head, prompting him to go on. "Well, it was the same, except there were no sponges, but razors. And knifes and swords and all sort of cutting tools… Can you imagine, Ken? Running around, scared and disoriented, rushing to aid those you hear screaming in pain only to find yourself… to find yourself… What kind of crazy man does that?"

Kendall didn't answer. She just sat next to him, holding his hand, knowing what kind of horrors he was talking about. She had seen the crime scenes, both the ones that got released to the press and the ones that were sealed to never see the light of day again, and she had been sick to her stomach. It would be a long time before she could forget Agnetti's body, virtually nailed to a door, or one of the John Does, whose head had been cleanly cut off by a swinging blade. Nico Barbeito had been a sadist with the training of an engineer, and his meticulousness had built the ultimate house of horrors.

Angell had hated all of those rooms. Nico had shown them to her during her first visit, and it had taken all of her willpower not to shudder. She had no doubt that the Inquisition would have been envious of his chamber of torture; stuff S&M dreams were made of. Nico had mentioned that some of his pieces had been photographed for a collector's catalogue and she believed him. Some of the devices that hung on the walls, especially the castrating ones, had to be at least a century old. She had been very careful not to show much interest in anything, for Nico had offered an "up close and personal" demonstration of whatever struck her fancy. Not careful enough, it seemed, for he had taken notice of the horrible fascination the Iron Maiden had held for her. Nico was a man of his word, and he had given her a demonstration later on…

"Stop it!"

"I thought you said you liked this…"

"Stop it, I said!"

"He's just a slave; you'll train another one…"

Her whip, his face. Her fear, his anger.

"Stupid bitch! How dare you! I was going to be nice and give him a quick, merciful death, but now…"

Faceless men releasing the victim. A breath of relief and newfound determination. A pact with the devil in the working.

"If you want to kill someone, kill me…"

Weak blue eyes widening in horror, fighting restraints to stop her from doing the unthinkable.

"Are you telling me that if I gave you a choice you'd rather die in his place?"

"Yes"

"Why?"

Silence

"I asked why, I demand an answer"

Her refusal to answer was met with a blow that landed her on the floor; blood dripping from mouth and nose, her silence still the only answer he was getting.

"Jezebel dear... you disappoint me. I thought so highly of you… I regarded you almost as an equal… and you are in love with him. How can you love an object? A beautiful, magnificent object, but an object just the same?"

She had stood up, still silent, her eyes never leaving his.

"What makes you think I'll not kill him after I'm done with you?"

"You're a man of honor, Nico. Whatever you promise, you keep"

He studied her for a long time, inwardly amazed at the strength he saw behind her unwavering eyes.

"So be it. I promise you I won't kill him. But…" sadistic smile lighting up his entire face, "I also promise you you're going to wish you were dead a thousand times before I'm done with you…"

"Nooooo!!"

His scream, Don's scream, reverberated in her head as the memory faded away. In the real world, she began to seizure.

Night had fallen long ago, leaving his office in patterned darkness, light from the outside filtering in, tracing capricious shapes on the walls, on his desk, on his face. That's how Stella had found him when she returned from the hospital.

"Mac?"

"I'm okay, Stell…"

"Like hell you are, Mac"

"I said I was okay…"

Choosing not to hear the implicit "leave me alone" in his voice, she crossed the room until she was standing next to him.

"Mac…"

"No"

Leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around him. She felt him stiffen at first, and then allowed himself to lean into her. It wasn't long before his arms found their way around her waist, and soon after that, the trembling began. Stella held on as Mac mourned. When it was over, she felt him stiffen again, subtly trying to get away.

"Come on. I'm taking you home tonight. I need you in my bed to chase the nightmares away…"

He woke up with a gasp and a struggle, terrified when he realized he couldn't see. When he tried to get up, things slowly began to come into focus. Calmer now, his rational mind concluded that he had been sleeping on his left side, which explained why he hadn't been able to see. He lay in bed, thinking about the adjustments he was going to have to make in his life and in his place. No more sleeping in his left side was one of the easier ones. He had already decided that when they got out of there, Jenn was moving in with him. His place had two bedrooms, an elevator and a doorman, things hers didn't have, plus it was closer to the hospital, which was a good thing for she was going to be doing loads and loads of rehab. In his mind, he was already thinking of all the things he'd have to install to help her move about as freely as possible. They'll have to get a new bed, a hospital bed to help her get in and get out of it… did they made those in king sizes? He wanted to sleep next to her, he was aware they'll never do anything except sleep in that bed, but that was okay by him, as long as he could feel her in his arms every night. He wasn't worried about the money; his college fund had been nestling untouched for nearly 15 years now and he was sure the department was going to look out for them as well, and although they were both going to be confined to desk duty for a while he knew their paychecks would still be the same… he could kiss them sergeant stripes away, that was for sure, but their salaries were good enough as they were to make a decent pension check, so it wasn't that important, and there wasn't going to be a college fund for them to worry about, unless they decided to adopt and… and…

Flack couldn't lie still anymore. Careful not to rip out any lines or IV's, he got out of bed and padded slowly towards Jenn's room. It was time for her to wake up, for he had a bucket-load of things to say to her and they needed to start making plans, and he was dying for a slice of pizza and a beer and watching TV with her was so much fun when she started arguing with the character on the screen… Don stood at the door of her room and was frozen in place.

Her bed was empty.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Thanks for your support for the new style. We're still jumping to and fro, tell me if it gets too confusing. **


	17. Establishing timelines

**A/N: Jenn and Donnie sat on a wall, Jenn and Donnie had a great fall… can anyone out there put them together again?**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

The metal clip board clattered on the floor when Hawkes dropped the medical chart he was holding as soon as he heard the animal-like howl coming from Angell's room. And although he had never heard it before, he had a very good idea of who it was, and he wished he could run faster, just to get there in time, before Flack did anything stupid.

He found him, holding to the door frame for dear life; mouth open, anguished cries he didn't know he was emitting pouring out alongside with his soul. Feeding line was torn again, as evidenced by the trickle of blood coming out from his already messed-up nose, but he didn't seem to notice that, either, as his eyes were fixed on the empty bed before him,

"Jennifer!!"

For a moment, Hawkes thought Flack reminded him of Rocky Balboa calling out for Adrianne, except he was a hundred pounds lighter and twice as beaten down. Then medical training kicked in and he reached the tormented man, ready to aid him.

"It's all right Don…"

"Jenn! Where's Jenn? Jenn's not there, Hawkes! Where did you take Jenn?"

Hawkes had signaled a nurse to bring a wheelchair and was now trying to get Don to sit down on it.

"She's okay, please… listen to me… she had a seizure and we took her down for a cat scan and she's now under observation at ICU…"

"I have to go there…"

"Please, Flack… you're in no condition to be doing this… your heart is weak and…"

"My heart's broken…"

Hawkes misunderstood. "No, Don, you haven't had a failure or an attack yet, you're just weak…"

"My heart's broken… she can't fix it now… she has to wake up and fix it cause it's broken… it broke back there and I can't fix it without her…"

Hawkes's heart went out to his friend; it was painful to see the emotional devastation showing here and there through the physical cracks of a beaten body and a battered spirit.

Flack looked into his eyes, pleading. "I want to see her. Take me to see her…"

Hawkes knew it was useless to argue with him.

"Let me just clean you up, huh?"

"N-no!"

"Come on Flack… just a bit of cleaning up… you wouldn't want Jenn to see you like this and get all worked up again, would you?"

Hawkes felt bad for resorting to emotional blackmail, but his conscience felt a bit better when it worked. Flack stopped fighting him and sat still as the nurse cleaned him up and readjusted the lines that had been torn out. As soon as he felt the nurse finished, he tried to get up.

"Let's go" Order.

"Hold it… we have to use the wheelchair..."

"No, no wheelchair" Demand.

"No wheelchair, no ICU. No ICU, no Jenn. Got it?"

"Got it…" Growl.

Hawkes wheeled him down the corridor and into the elevator, while Flack sat very still, nervously taking in his surroundings. Hawkes hated to admit it, but he missed the detective's quick, wry wit and sarcasm and his infamous one-liners. He wondered fleetingly if commenting dryly on DNA would bring at least a smile to Flack's face, but decided against it. He just wouldn't be able to bear the lack of response he feared might meet his own joke.

Flack started to show some animation as soon as they wheeled into the room where Jenn laid. He gently grabbed her hand as soon as he got near enough to do so; quickly forgetting Hawkes was there in the room.

"Hey baby" he whispered softly, "no fun scaring me like that, you know. To be honest, Jenn, I'm getting tired of talking to you and you not talking back. That ain't fun, either. I miss you kiddo. Please Jenn, you gotta come back. I promise I won't get on your case much for pulling that stupid martyr trick on me. You make me look bad Angell… big bad cop hiding behind his petite female partner… I have a reputation to keep, woman, and you're not helping my case one bit…"

Hawkes hated to interrupt, but he was feeling like an intruder and he had to take Flack back to his own room.

"Don… we can't stay here for long…"

"I'm not leaving her"

"Flack…"

"I mean it Hawkes. I don't care if it's against hospital regulations. Screw hospital regulations… throw my badge at them… threaten to sue… I don't' care what you do, I'm not leaving her…"

Hawkes sighed. He'd known it was going to be worthless to argue.

"I'll see what I can do…"

"While you're at it, see if you can get us a bigger bed… and pizza delivery from Gino's would be nice, too"

Hawkes did not bother to answer, but a huge grin graced his face as he left the room. There might be a chance for them of getting Flack back…

"I… I have something to show you…"

Danny looked up at Adam, and he could swear the lab tech was more nervous than usual.

"What is it?"

"Tox screens came back"

Adam handed Danny the results.

"Why would he give Angell epinephrine? There's no indication in her records that she had heart problems during her stay there…"

"Probably… well… I mean… just to keep her alive? She took quite a beating and… uh… well…"

"You're probably right, Adam. Lord knows that sicko bastard wouldn't give up on his fun so easily"

Danny tried to give the results back to Adam "You can give this to Mac at the briefing"

"Uh… you haven't checked Flack's…"

Danny's senses fired into overload as he scanned the second page he'd missed the first time around.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ! Are you sure these are correct? "

"Ran them twice already. I-I didn't believe them myself. Those levels of sidenafil citrate… I mean…"

"I know… enough to keep an elephant going for three days… fucking miracle he didn't go into a cardiac arrest! His BP musta been goin' through the roof when the doses hit in…"

"I don't think it was one doses…" Adam shrunk a bit when Danny's penetrating gaze looked at him straight in the eyes, "Look at how the levels show spikes… my guess is that he was given several shots over a period of time… Barbeito would know better than to overdose him…"

"I'm sure the sonofabitch would find OD'ing on Viagra amusing…"

"Uh… Danny?"

"What is it, Adam?"

"Well… uh… why would he give Flack that? I mean, he's young and… well... uh… I don't… "

Danny sighed. He knew why, and it haunted him. He didn't feel the need to give the young lab Tec more stuff to keep him awake at night. "Let's just say Nico wanted to make sure Flack would perform at will, ok?"

Adam nodded, not particularly eager to have a more detailed explanation. There were rumors flying around the whole lab; rumors that he refused to believe, but rumors that left him very uneasy. He had a vivid imagination; he knew how to connect the dots in order to get the whole picture even before there were enough dots to make out a preliminary shape. And near fatal levels of Viagra on a victim of a case were rumors of rape and sodomy were flying around were too big dots to ignore.

Movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. Everybody was assembling at the conference room for a briefing on the case, and he rushed there, tox screen reports in hand. When he slid into the room, Mac was starting.

"I want to start by thanking you all for being here. I know this hasn't been an easy case, and I know it's hard to forget these are our friends and coworkers we're talking about here. But because it's them, we're going to get to the bottom of this case, leaving no stone unturned, until justice can be done. Stella?"

The curly woman took over.

"We know that both Flack and Angell met with Brian and Robert March at the Oyster's Cult at 19:30 hours and were there practicing their cover story for at least an hour and a half before Barbeito ran into them and took them away soon after that."

Lindsay took over.

"According to witnesses, all four of them were very surprised to bump into Nico there, and leaving in such hurry had not been part of the plan. We interviewed the locals and the employees at the club and it seems that Nico wasn't a regular…"

"So we have reason to believe that their encounter wasn't casual?" Mac asked

"It would appear so. The bouncer Stella and I interviewed seemed to think that Nico had gone into the bar specifically looking for someone. The bartender corroborates that idea; she says Nico stood at the entrance looking around and headed straight towards them as soon as he spotted them. The waiter and one of the people partying with March mentioned Nico didn't waste time asking for a drink, or sitting down. He got a hold on Jenn and the three of them were out of there in less than 5 minutes"

"So he went in there looking for them. What happened next?"

"Apparently Brian and Robert followed them back to Nico's place. According to dispatch, Brian called Agnetti at 22:10 to let him know what was going on. We believe Agnetti told them to stay put while he orchestrated a raid" Danny reported.

"Agnetti called Cap Patterson and in turn he called me at twenty three hundred. What happened to Brian and Robert after the phone call?"

Hawkes stepped forward. "Either they got tired of waiting and decided to go in by themselves, or they were discovered and escorted into the house. There is no evidence in their car that shows signs of struggle, so that part we might never know for sure. According to Sid" he continued, taking out some photos and the ME's report, "They were the first victims, shot execution style in the house's foyer. The bodies show no sign of trauma or anything else that suggest they might have been tortured, so their deaths were swift and relatively painless… not exactly Nico's style, which suggests someone else was calling the shots at that moment"

"Is there a time of death?"

"Sid says between ten and midnight, which is why we think they were dead even before Agnetti and the raid team arrived"

Mac nodded and kept quiet for a moment. He took a deep breath before continuing. "What happened next is up to us to establish a time line and discover what happened. The forensic evidence is too much or not enough and I don't think we'll ever get an accurate timeline of the events. We can, however, establish two different crime scenes and work our ways from there."

He approached the board. "On the right side, we have Detectives Flack and Angell", he said, writing their names. "On the left side, we have Agnetti and the raid team"

He turned to face the team. "What we know is based on surviving witnesses' interviews and what we could find at the site. Officer Rubens's statement tells us they went in through the back door, not finding any other door open. That they went into a corridor where there were several doors, also locked shut. That they arrived to point where the corridor split in two, so they separated in order to investigate. Next thing he knows, all hell breaks loose and Richardson is pushing him down to the floor while bullets rain upon them. Five dead, including Richardson, and five wounded. Medical reports on Pauline Simms and Herbert Wong say they're still touch and go, so death count could increase"

Stella stood up to contribute. "Nico set four heavy duty machine guns, each in every corner, each one with 350 rounds each. They were rigged to go using a weight sensor; the moment five or more people came into the room they'd start shooting. Deadly ingenious, I'm surprised half of them made it out alive…"

"The other half of the team, lead by Agnetti and Potts, followed to corridor into another room. Inside, they found several of Nico's "slaves", including the Senator's godson, and they didn't seem happy to see them, or so seems to think Officer Guzman. What happens next is a bit hazy, as lights went out the moment the door closed behind them, but it seems that nails flew and boards parted and blades started coming straight out of hell…" Adam blushed a bit when he noticed the look Mac was giving him. "His words, not mine. Anyways, we've been over that room and it seems that Nico loved his weight sensors. This time around, it was nail guns. Also, the room had a double floor. The lower one was rigged with all sorts of sharp objects and blades, so when the boards of the upper floor flipped open, those who had escaped being nailed to the wall, simply slipped down unto the blades…" He noticed Lindsay shivering and looking away from the photos he had brought with him. "I have the feeling that this trap was meant to inflict pain and not kill…"

"That's why most of them escaped with only serious injuries. Only six casualties out of a group of 16; Agnetti, Potts, Lupin and Rogers, plus two John Does. My guess is that the slaves knew how the room worked and tried to get out of the way."

Hawkes came up with the autopsy reports: "Agnetti was caught by the nail guns and sustained multiple penetration wounds. Cause of death was brain rupture caused by one nail that went through his left eye; death was immediate. Potts died following procedure; once the nails started flying, he hit the floor; once the boards started moving he couldn't get back to his feet and was impaled on the blades below. Cause of death; massive blood loss. Lupin caught a nail on his carotid and Rogers sliced his femoral artery; they both bled to death in less than five minutes. The John Does died of similar causes."

"Meanwhile" Danny continued, "Silva and other two agents found Nico's personal torture chamber with four DOA John Does strapped down to different structures. All I can say is that Poe would be proud of this guy's ability to place pendulums in rotating arches."

"DNA had shown no matches yet; we're waiting for the FBI to allow us to play with their records, but you know how long that can take…"

"Are you telling me not a single sample matched to anything or anyone?"

Adam squirmed a bit under Mac's gaze. "Well, uh, not exactly. We found traces matching Nico and one Steve Kim, who was working for him… and we also found samples that match Flack and Angel…"

Adam was quiet. He was sure no one in the room actually needed to know that he'd found Flack's blood on the spikes inside the Iron Maiden, or that the DNA on one of the stretching wheels lead him to believe that that's how Angell had broken her lower spine… nor did they need to know that he'd found traces of their DNA on several penetrative devices. It was on his report, he'd never leave that sort of information out, no matter how painful, and Mac would eventually read about it, but his dedication to the job did not include saying it out loud. Because saying it out loud meant that it was real, and no reality that horrendous should be ever brought to light. Adam was no stranger to abuse, Lord knew he had his share of scars on his back (most of them cigarette burns), but this… this went beyond abuse and far beyond what he was willing to try to understand. So he kept quiet.

Mac looked at the board in front of him and sighed. The easy part of the job was done, and he couldn't stall any longer.

"Guess it's time we tackled what happened to Don and Jennifer…"

He woke up with a startle, uncertain as where he was. He had no recollection of having fallen asleep, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't seem to focus correctly with his right eye. He blindly looked around, trying to assess what had happened, but found himself unable to move. Looking up, he finally saw something vaguely familiar… Jennifer! Why was she standing in such an unnatural position? And where were her clothes? Then he saw the wheel move and he heard a sharp crack and a howling scream echoing in the room…

Flack almost fell of the wheelchair in his panic. It took a moment or two for him to realize he was at the hospital. He looked up desperately and let out a sigh of relief as he noticed Jenn's sleeping form on the bed next to him. Still breathing hard, he carefully went back to the memory that had awoken him. It scared him; no, worse than that… it terrified him… he couldn't shake the memory now, as he could feel it all so clearly; him bound to a vault, Jenn tied on a spoke wheel, someone pulling on his hair to lift his head so he'd take a good look at her.

Then Nico's voice whispering close to his ear:

"Like what you see… COP?"

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Hmmm… wonder how Nico found them out?**


	18. Lies and Sex Videotapes

**A/N: Tell me… who are you?**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

"Sorry to interrupt, Mac, but…"

Six pairs of eyes moved towards the door, where a flustered, and evidently dead tired, Cap Patterson stood.

"My boys just found a small hidden room, like a panic room, except it has enough video gadgets to make CBS jealous."

"You heard Cap… get your cases and meet me downstairs. Adam, you're coming, too."

Cap shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Mac… maybe it'd be best to leave Bonasera and Monroe…?"

The whole team stopped on their tracks and looked, first at Patterson, then at Mac.

"That bad?"

"Uh-huh"

"Thanks for the head-up… but we're all in this together as a team…"

Cap nodded and left. The ride back to Nico's place was a quiet and tense one. What exactly was awaiting them that Cap didn't want the female detectives to see?

As soon as they got to the scene, they started to process it without any instruction form Mac. The job was done silently and efficiently, dusting for prints and searching for anything else that might reveal something about the last person to come into this room. Adam was working his magic, his fingers speeding over a series of keyboards, typing commands here and there, trying to make sense of what was on the files.

"What do you have, Adam?" asked Mac after a while.

"Videotapes. At first I thought they were surveillance tapes but… I'm not so sure now. The cameras were not facing the doors or the windows, but rather specific places inside each room… not that it makes much sense to me."

"Bag and tag everything. We'll analyze it back at the lab."

"Uh… Mac?"

"Yes?"

"There's something that's bothering me. If Nico didn't have a chance to come back here, why's the machine playing a video that was stamped two hours before the raid took place?"

"Maybe that's the last thing the cameras recorded?"

"No… I've already found the last footage… the cameras were still rolling when Cap's men came in here…"

Mac frowned at the information and pondered for a moment. That could only mean that someone else had been in the room. Why switch the tapes? Mac could only think of a reason: someone had gone in the room looking for a tape.

"They found hundreds of tapes inside the psycho's house! CSI's secured them…"

"Wonder what they'll find in there…"

"Probably enough material to build a gay porn empire…"

"You think Flack and Angell have their own sex tape?"

"Shut the fuck up and show some respect, will ya?"

"Sorry. I just…"

He didn't pay attention to the rest of the conversation. He knew now what he'd feared the most: they had the tapes. It wouldn't be long before they went through every inch of footage. Damn Barbeito and his voyeuristic streak! He also chided himself; he ought to have taken the whole thing and not wasted time looking to see if his face showed somewhere in those tapes. Now all that was there for him was to wait and see what they came up with… and in the meantime, he'd write a second report, one that would justify why and how he had been filmed at the scene long before the raid began…

Adam did his best to do his work and not look at the screen in front of him. Lindsay had asked to be excused a while ago, and had yet to return. Stella kept in her place, the only thing betraying her feelings were the tears that rolled down her face every now and then; and the uncontrollable flinching whenever the senseless torture she was witnessing became too much to bear. Sheldon Hawkes tried to remain detached by keeping things within the medical perspective, keeping track of the physical injuries being inflicted by taking notes here and there. Mac watched impassively, his thoughts and feelings guarded although his insides were totally revolted; what he saw went beyond a simple sadistic streak. He had seen bad during his days at the Marines, but this surpassed bad by a mile and then some. And although the tapes had no sound, in his mind he could hear Angell's screams, which made things a thousand times worse.

Danny Messer sat, restless, watching how his best friend was tortured. The silence of the room was broken time and time again by his cursing and his emotional cries. There were times where he had whimpered, and he was not ashamed of the tears that flowed freely. He cringed when the mallet came down time and time again, breaking every bone in Flack's right hand; he winced as he watched Angell, chained to a wall, as she was raped by several hooded men while a heavily beaten and shackled Flack stood by, helpless to stop it…

"_She deserved that…"_

Danny was taken aback by that thought. Nobody deserved that! Sure, she had hurt Flack at the beginning, but they were undercover and that was the role she had to play, but still… Danny had seen her hurting his friend and his emotional side had taken that sight and ran with it until he felt nothing for rage towards the female detective. _"Transference! You can't punish Nico so you transfer your hatred to Angell!"_ His mind battled his emotions, but it was a lost battle.

"_I hope she dies and rots in hell"_

When he arrived to the hospital after his shift Danny couldn't help the uneasiness he felt as he found Flack's room empty. A nurse informed him he was still at Angell's room and the uneasiness turned into something nastier that gnawed his insides and threatened to spill like bile when he caught sight of the woman in bed. He focused on Flack instead, trying to get his feelings under control.

The tall man looked unkempt, with his unshaved beard darkening nearly all his face, and Danny cursed enviously; it took him 3 weeks to grow a decent goatee and Flack could pull a Grizzly Adams in 3 days. To add insult to injury, the man still had a full head of hair, thought Danny wistfully, as he unconsciously lifted a hand to touch his own thinning crown. The only consolation was that his was still all dark blond, whilst Flack was already walking down the salt n' pepper route.

Thinking he had his temper under control, he walked into the room.

"Hey man! How's things?"

His enthusiasm sounded hollow and fake to his ears, but his friend seemed not to notice.

"Doctors said that if she doesn't' have another seizure in the next 24 hours we can hope for some sort of recovery before the weekend rolls around…"

"Good. Good." _But I'm not here to talk about her, dammit!_ "And you? Any news from the ophthalmologist?"

"She was around yesterday, but I told her I'd visit her later. I want Jess to come with me so we can discuss the options…"

"_Delusional idiot"_ "Is it wise to wait? I mean, maybe there's something to be done now…"

Flack shook his head. "Things are exactly the same they were. Now or in three months or in three years, the ocular globe is smashed and the nerves destroyed. Even if I had the six million, they don't have the technology yet to save what's left of it. I'll probably end up with a glass eye that I'll pop out for kicks during family get togethers, just to gross out Linds and have Jess roll her eyes and make you and your squirts squeal in delight…"

"_He's thinking family as in Montana and me with kids and him with… her…" _"Charming. I'm sure you'll be a hit. How about…"

"Neurologist dropped by a while ago and said her readings are very good… no sign of permanent brain damage and her coma is not as deep as when she first got here."

"_Dammit Flack; I don't give a shit if she ever wakes up! Talk to me about you!" _ "Good. But…"

"And the surgeon came to check her progress and said she's doing good. No important trauma to major organs and the grafts are healing nicely and there's a good chance the scarring will be minimal and she'll be a good candidate for reconstructive surgery…"

"_Who cares if she ends up looking like a fucking jigsaw puzzle?" _"And your hand? Have you started rehab?"

"Doc thinks I'll have to start in a week or two. Wants to make sure all bones healed properly first. That mallet sure did a number on it…"

Flack stopped talking as his mind fleetingly took him back to the moment when Nico decided to make sure he wouldn't attempt anything stupid, like trying to make it out of there alive. The idiot had assumed he was right-handed; assumption neither Flack nor Angell had bothered to correct. In the end, the fact that his good hand was unscathed proved to be pivotal in their survival.

"Hey Flack!" Danny's overly cheerful tone brought him back to reality. "Watcha say I roll you down to the coffee shop and see what they call food around here?"

"I appreciate the offer, Messer, but… I want to be here when Jess wakes up…"

"_Bitch ought to be dead"_ "Aww, come on, man, it's not like she's waiting for you to go to open her eyes…"

"Knowing Jess, that's probably exactly what she's doing…"

Maybe it was the way Flack kept saying her given name; maybe it was the way he looked at her, so sickenly and adoringly. Maybe he was simply tired of keeping his feelings to himself after watching his friend being tortured for the past four hours. Whatever the reason, Danny snapped and his façade of concern crumbled.

"Flack… I think it's time you started to face the facts…"

"Watcha mean?"

"Well… it's all right for you to worry about… her… after all what happened, but you've been sitting her for five days now. Nobody is going to fault you for walking away and start worrying about yourself…"

"Lemme get this straight. You think I'm sitting here out of some sort of warped sense of duty?"

"Not duty… not exactly... more like a fucked up Stockholm Syndrome or something…"

"Danny…"

"No, wait! I mean it Don… you don't have to do this…"

"I'm here because I want to…"

"But…"

"Listen to me, Danny. I love her. I was just too stupid to let her know before, and then I got all wrapped up in the case this and the case that… and I thought that telling her how I felt would jeopardize our undercover assignment. How fucked up is that? Nico knew about us all the time!"

"Now it's not the time to be taking rushed decisions…"

"Rushed? There's nothing rushed about this! I've had feelings for her for as long as I can remember…"

"Okay, okay. So maybe "rushed" was a bad choice of words. It's just that now is not the best time to be making this sort of decisions…"

"What the hell has gotten into you Messer?"

_Okay, buddy, you asked for it. _ "You don't owe her anything…"

"You have no fucking clue about what you talking about. I owe her, big time! She sacrificed herself to keep me alive; after all I'd done to her…"

"You didn't do anything!"

"Like hell I didn't! You don't know, Messer, you weren't there…"

"We found the tapes. We saw it all. I know everything that went down there…"

"Really? Guess you know now that I beat her and raped her…"

"And she sodomized you in return! You're even!"

"This has nothing to do with being even!"

"That's exactly my point! Listen to me, Flack! You don't owe the damn bitch anything!"

Stunned silence met Danny's last outburst, and he suddenly realized what he had just said.

"Flack, I…"

"Get out"

"But I didn't mean to…"

"Get out!"

"Flack, please…"

"OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT! NOW!"

Danny needn't be told twice. Had roles been reversed, had that been Montana on the bed, he'd probably be trying to beat the living shit out of Flack for even implying what he had openly said about Angell. Damn his temper for always getting the best of him! Leaving the hospital, he headed back to the Lab. He knew he'd had to come clean with someone about he had just done, and he went looking for Lindsay for absolution and for Mac for his punishment.

Back in the hospital, a lone tear rolled down the face of a woman who was neither dead nor alive.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Seems the story still holds a surprise or two, even for me.**


	19. Jennifer Jezebel Flack

**A/N: The Lord is my Sheppard, I shall not be afraid…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

The print. The fucking fingerprint was going to be his downfall. Had it been one of his guys, he could rest more easily, certain in the fact that the evidence would find its way into a different file, forever lost. But this was Mac Taylor and his lab rats, and they were the worst kind of cop there was: the honest ones out to do justice no matter who fell down. If Jenn had been awake, he would have considered asking her for a small favor, but he couldn't be sure where her loyalties laid now. He couldn't even be sure if she was going to make it.

On second thought… wouldn't it be best if she simply didn't make it at all?

X xxx X

"And that's still bothering us…"

Flack had been half listening to Stella, his constant watch on Angell's vital signs still uninterrupted.

"Huh?"

"We haven't been able to figure out how Nico knew where to find you and… Flack? You okay? Don!"

Something clicked inside the detective's memory. Something that had been there all the time, but had not emerged to the surface… until now.

"Angell…" he muttered, "Angell told him…"

Stella was shocked.

"You mean to tell me that Angell told Nico where you two would be?!"

"What? No! Not Nico…"

You could hear a pin drop as Flack paused before revealing his memory.

"Jenn told Rick Silva we were going to the Oyster's Cult to practice…"

By the time Stella left the hospital, a warrant for the arrest of Rick Silva had been issued and Mac was heading over to Vice Headquarters to deliver it personally.

X xxx X

"He's never going to forgive me"

Lindsay wished she could offer more support, but deep down she knew Danny was right: the damage he'd done was not one to be forgiven… or forgotten, any time soon.

"Danny…"

"Please don't say it, Montana. It'd be a lie and we both know it. If roles were reversed, I wouldn't forgive him, either. I just don't know what got into me…"

"Danny… what we saw on those tapes… it wasn't easy to watch… you love Flack like a brother, seeing him get hurt, hurt you as well…it's normal to want to hate the person that harmed him… but in this case…"

"It looked as though she was enjoying herself…"

"Have you stopped to consider that her pretending to enjoy it might be the difference between her being in a coma instead of Flack?"

Danny didn't answer. He simply couldn't.

X xxx X

Flack was out of the hospital for the first time in ten days, and back in the precinct for the first time in two weeks. It felt like an eternity, and it certainly looked like it to him, his surroundings totally alien, his old desk had abandonment written all over it; hers had been removed and placed somewhere else. It was as if they'd never been there at all.

He surveyed his surroundings carefully, getting used at looking at things with just one eye, getting used to wearing an eye patch that casted a ghost shadow that disconcerted him. He was also getting used at the reaction he caused on people; most of his old co-workers stood aside, avoiding him, uncertain as to how to treat him. Those who approached him were either too ashamed to look at him n the eye or too enthusiastic about waiting for him to come back. Either way, they all seemed to know that, in all honesty, neither one of them would work in there again.

At least, Flack knew they weren't coming back. Ever. If he was there today was simply because someone (Mac? Cap? Sinclair?) thought it'd be a good idea to have him there while Silva was questioned. On second thought, it had probably been Sinclair's idea; neither Mac nor Cap would be this dense or insensitive.

Flack stood behind the one-way glass watching Mac and Stella push as Silva shoved back, ebb flow and tide, eternal game of cat and mouse. The man had an answer for everything, but the investigators seemed to have question for everything other, as well. It'd be only a matter of time before Silva slipped and then Mac and Stella would be on him like sharks. And he was supposed to witness that. His mind had been somewhere else the entire time. He looked at his watch. It had taken longer than he had anticipated; he calmed himself down thinking it'd be any minute… any moment, really.

Silva made a mistake. Four phones rang almost simultaneously. Lots of screaming ensued, but Flack simply closed his eye, glad it was finally over. A tired smile crossed his scarred face when he heard Stella, in a voice far shakier than he'd have expected, tell Silva they got him for the murder of Detective Jennifer Jezebel Angell…

X xxx X

The next couple of days were a whirlwind of activity around him, but a blur in his mind. He had politely declined speaking at Jenn's eulogy and had adamantly refused to see her inside her coffin. He wanted the Jenn that lived in his mind and heart, the one resting there was a stranger to him and he had no interest whatsoever in meeting her.

Just as they had at the precinct, most people avoided him. And he was thankful for that. Lindsay had kept Danny away from him, her sorrowful eyes full of apologies for the both of them. And Flack was thankful for that. Stella had done a wonderful job tying his black tie and adjusting his right arm on a sling and making the patch feel less foreign on a face he hardly recognized as his own. And he was also thankful for that.

But above all, he was thankful that Jenn was no longer suffering.

X xxx X

The text message was from a number he did not know, and he didn't care. It told him what he wanted to know and that was all that mattered. Half an hour later he was walking quietly into the holding cells at Headquarters. Two nameless, faceless cops at the door gave him a silent nod and walked away.

Silva looked up from his cot when he saw the door open. He stood up like lighting when he saw who it was. A tremor of fear shot through him; he had been expecting this, not wanting to believe it might actually happen. He closed his eyes, fully expecting to feel the pain of a bullet ripping through his flesh.

He opened them again when he heard the noise of a chair been dragged on the floor. He saw the man that had come in, a broken man, a man who ought to be dead, sitting in front of the ratty table in the center of the room, motioning him to join him.

Flack saw Silva mentally searching for guns.

"I ain't packing" he simply stated.

Silva sat down.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to ask why"

"Why??"

"Yeah. I want to know why you did it."

Silva seemed to be pondering his answer. In truth, he was making a quick analysis of the man in front of him. He wasn't packing at waist level, that was true, but there was always the chance of an ankle holster or a pocket knife. Even if that was the case, it was too soon for him to be used to seeing through just one eye, so his aim was sure to be off. Besides, his hand and upper arm were still on a cast, resting on a sling. Silva decided the man posed no threat to him, whatsoever.

"Because I could. Because I was tired of giving my everything and getting nothing back. Because I was damn better than Thompson yet the cocksucking bastard was next in line for the throne… take your pick"

"So it wasn't personal?"

"No"

The lie hung in the air between the man who knew the truth and the one who hadn't the faintest of clues.

"Is there anything else you'd like to say?"

"Not really"

Silva shrugged and watched with apparent disinterest as Flack got up, faltering, from his chair.

"So basically you destroyed my life and everything I loved about it for a corner office…"

Silva did not like the way Flack had said that last line. He didn't like the way the man was now pacing up and down his cell, coming closer to him with every turn.

He liked it even less when he felt Flack's left hand on his shoulder; the weight of the cast resting on his back was nowhere near comforting.

"Did you make it Detective 3rd based on your assumptions?"

The question threw Silva off. He had expected everything, except this.

"Mostly. A leap here, a bound there. Gut feelings leading the way every now and then… you know how it is…"

"I used to think I knew how it is. Then I started working with CSIs. And I learned that my gut feelings were zilch without the evidence backing them up. And that's where you failed, Silva. You and Nico. You assumed you were smarter than us. You assumed Jenn died without ever waking up…"

Flack let the implication sink, almost enjoying the way Silva's eyes widened when realization hit. Too shocked to notice that Flack's left hand was now resting on his neck, Silva only managed to shudder when he felt Flack's warm breath next to his ear.

"You assumed I was harmless because you assumed I was right-handed…"

All it took was a snap of the wrist, leverage provided by the thick, heavy cast.

He left the holding cell, meeting no one. Hours later, a text message would inform him that there had been a brawl at the showers and Silva had been found dead, hanging from a shower rod. Guilt, no doubt, had led him to this. End of the investigation.

X xxx X

Flack held his service gun in his hand, marveling at its weight and how well it seemed to fit there. Legally, he ought to have turned it in along with the badge, but nobody had come right out and asked for it, so he still held on to them as memories of the past and things that were no longer there, nor would they ever come back.

He'd crossed the line, not once, but twice, and he was no longer worthy of carrying the badge he had sworn to uphold for a town he had loved more than life itself. But he'd done it once, and he'd do it all over again because he had loved her more than he had loved the town or the badge.

Jessica Jezebel Angell, never to be Jessica Flack, had regained consciousness for fourteen minutes and forty-eight seconds. A blink of an eye for some, perhaps, but for him the only eternity he'd ever have; long enough for him to propose and her to accept, long enough for her to tell him Silva had been there and had struck the fatal blow, long enough for her to ask him to set her free.

He'd have given her anything she asked for, and this had been no different. Who cared if it broke his heart? The moment she slipped back into coma he knew she wasn't coming back. So the last thing he did before he left for the precinct was make a tiny loop on her IV line… tiny loop formed a tiny bubble. By the time he left, loop straightened out, bubble was making its way slowly into her blood stream…

He had loved, and he had been loved. That was enough.

He looked at the gun in his hand one more time as he took another swig of whisky. He sighed. "Not like this" he thought, "not like this". He knew what he was doing, decision taken the moment he heard Jenn had died, but he'd changed his mind on the how a couple of times.

Another swig. The tumbler, nearly empty, hovered dangerously on the nook between his thumb and fingers that the cast had created.

He put the gun back down, nestled it lovingly inside its box and closed it for the last time.

He took the badge, allowing his fingers to trace the ridges before carefully placing it on top of a closed box.

He took the bottle of whisky and poured another pint or two into the tumbler. He tightened the lid and placed it next to the box, a silent comment on how the bottle and the badge seemed to go hand in hand in a city that never slept.

He shook the little jar; only two, three at most, left. That raised the count to nine, or maybe ten. He hoped there was magic in those numbers. A swig of the jar, a longer swig of the tumbler; two empty objects put to rest next to the items already there.

With a sigh, he lay down on his bed, pulling the blue pajamas she had worn the last time she'd been there close to his chest. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell her there; a smell so clean and free of the smell of death and pain it made him teary-eyed. He buried his face in the fabric, allowing the memories to envelop him and carry him away. In the end, it had been the lace, not the leather, who had found the way into his heart.

"I'm coming, Jenn" he thought, as consciousness began to loose all meaning. "I'm on my way…"

X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X

**A/N: Thanks for reading, reviewing and accepting to take this ride into the dark side with me. Please close the door on your way out… **


End file.
